


Once Upon A Nightmare

by mdelpin, Oryu404



Series: Fairy Tail Dads AU [19]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst, Apologies, Avoidance, Awkward Tension, Confessions, Double Date, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fights, Flashbacks, Fluff, Frustration, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Magnolia Dad's Club, Moving In Together, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Prompt: Coffee, Psychological Trauma, Rage, Regret, Retelling of Events, Reunions, Secrets, Sexual Content, Shadowlight Week 2020, Shame, Teasing, Tending to injuries, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, asking for help, free prompt, ftdadsau, mental health, prompt: absence, prompt: contest, prompt: duality, shadowlightweek2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdelpin/pseuds/mdelpin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oryu404/pseuds/Oryu404
Summary: Sting was finally right where he wanted to be, back in Magnolia and living with Rogue. The reality, however, was not what he'd expected, especially when it seemed Rogue was hiding something from him. Never one to give up easily, Sting is determined to do what he can to help his partner so they can have their happily ever after.
Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Rufus Lore/Orga Nanagear
Series: Fairy Tail Dads AU [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555675
Comments: 20
Kudos: 22
Collections: Fairy Tail Dads AU, Fairy Tail LGBTales, Shadowlight Week 2020





	1. Absence

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story picks up after the events of Let It Rain and All I Want For Christmas, and will contain references to sexual assault. It will deal with how Rogue's refusal to get help affects not only him but Sting as well, putting an immediate strain in their relationship.
> 
> Written for Shadowlight Week 2020
> 
> Want to talk with us about Fairy Tail, other animes, writing, or our stories? Click on the link to join our discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/HTnthVNZ3V)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary:  
> Sting returns to Magnolia excited to share a life with Rogue, only to discover that in his absence Rogue's life had changed in more ways than he'd let on.  
> 

_ June 6, 2014 _

Sting was convinced he was suffering from a caffeine overdose. Either that or his excitement was causing him to feel like he was vibrating, unable to sit still or stay focused. He had barely slept that night, staying on video chat with Rogue until he wasn't able to keep his eyes open anymore, and had woken up shortly after to find the chat still open and Rogue asleep on the other end. Cue a whole bunch of screenshots. 

He'd decided on a late afternoon flight so he could spend some quality time with his parents before leaving. However, by the time he'd gotten on the plane, he'd had so many overly sweetened coffees, and cans of energy drinks that sleep was out of the question. Now he was restless, bouncing on his feet as he waited for what felt like forever for his giant suitcase to appear on the baggage carousel. When it finally did, he hauled it off, and it nearly toppled over as he raced to get in line for customs. 

He was asked a few questions regarding the goods he had to declare, all food items he'd brought from Edolas knowing Rogue had liked them, and let out a sigh of relief when he was granted permission to go through the checkpoint. Finally, Sting was going to see his boyfriend face to face again, after another near 6 months of separation. 

He weaved through the crowd as fast as he could without being a jerk to the other passengers, having lost the last of his patience. But the crowd disappeared from his radar when he spotted Rogue, his attention zeroing in on him as if he was the only one there. He was holding a bunch of white roses, and once he'd noticed Sting rushing towards him, he quickly put them up in front of his face, trying to hide the embarrassment that came with his beaming smile.

Before he was able to speak a word, Sting let go of the handle of his suitcase and launched himself at him, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around. He put him back down again but didn't let go yet, claiming his lips in a hungry kiss instead. 

"I missed you so much," Rogue interrupted briefly, for once not seeming to care about their extensive display of affection. 

"I missed you too," Sting grinned as he finally broke their kiss, "but damn, what happened to you?" he gently squeezed Rogue's arms, convinced that they were firmer than the last time. 

"What do you mean what happ- Hey!" Rogue shrieked when Sting cheekily lifted his shirt, exposing his abdomen, "Leave that!" 

Sting obeyed, but not without whistling at the sight first. Although Rogue hadn't been in bad shape before, his muscles had certainly become more defined, something Sting hadn't yet noticed through the tiny window of their video chats. "Been working out?" he asked, taking his sweet time smoothing out Rogue's shirt. 

"Yeah, I...needed something to keep me busy outside of college and studying, " Rogue shrugged. "Are you done with that?" 

"Sure. For now."

He rolled his eyes and handed over the roses with a shy smile, "Uhm, for you...It's dumb, I know. I just felt weird showing up empty-handed."

"Dumb?" Sting joyfully accepted the roses and smelled them, "I think it's really cute."

Not sure how to respond to that, Rogue grabbed Sting's suitcase, pulling it along as he started making his way through the airport. "Geez, did you stuff your entire room into this behemoth or what?" 

"Sort of. Don't worry, though, I'll take it."

"No." Rogue stubbornly refused to let go of the handle and grabbed Sting's other hand, intertwining their fingers. "Let's go home."

Sting laughed and happily followed, not minding that he was being beaten at his own game. 

0-0 

It struck him that on the way home in the car, Rogue was becoming increasingly absent the closer they got to Magnolia. And one of the traits Sting had always adored about him, his affinity for music that caused him to subconsciously tap his foot or fingers on any surface, or sing or hum along when a song was playing, didn't show itself. The radio was on, but Rogue didn't so much as nod to the rhythm of the beats. 

Sting reached for Rogue’s hand on the steering wheel, giving it a squeeze before letting his own hand settle on Rogue's knee. "Are you nervous?" he wondered. They were essentially moving in together, so he'd have fair reason to be. Hell, Sting was kind of nervous himself. 

"A little," Rogue admitted, keeping his eyes firmly on the road, "I just...there's a lot going on."

"Hmhm," Sting hummed, aware of the lack of contact Rogue had with his family lately. 

Not long after returning from his Edolas visit, he’d gone over to see his brother in Crocus for the weekend. From what he’d told Sting about it, it hadn’t gone too well, and less than two weeks later, he’d found out through someone else that Gray had gotten married. Angry and hurt as he was, Rogue hadn’t spoken to Gray ever since.

His parents weren’t any better, they had promised to come see him when they’d be going on vacation leave but canceled last-minute. Rogue’s calls rarely got answered. He spent days waiting for responses to the texts he’d sent them. Logically he was worried, annoyed, feeling abandoned, but Sting was determined to brighten up his days as best as he could until the situation improved and after. 

"Well, we're almost there, you can tell me everything that's bothering you when you don't have traffic to focus on. I brought you those snacks you hoarded when you came over for Christmas." 

"Really?" 

That seemed to lift Rogue's spirits a little, but when he noticed the time on the dashboard clock, he quickly reasoned, "We should have dinner first. Drive-thru?" 

"Sounds great! Pick whatever you're in the mood for." 

After the short detour to get food, they arrived at the house, so eager to eat from the smell that filled the car that they decided to leave Sting's big suitcase in the trunk for later. Sting just grabbed his backpack, the flowers, and the bag containing their food, so that Rogue only had the cardboard drink holder to worry about while he locked the car and opened the front door. 

Sting hadn't been there in about a year, but the memories resurfaced as soon as he walked into the hallway and looked around the living room. It felt good to come back to the house he'd been able to call home for a while, and that would hopefully stay his home for a long time. 

He looked at Rogue, who seemed equally struck by the realization, nervously excited because they'd been looking forward to this moment for so long. Now that it finally arrived and they were really going to do this, it all felt so surreal. 

"Welcome back," Rogue spoke softly, and Sting could only guess the kind of impact this moment had on him, after a year of living alone. 

“You’re stuck with me now,” Sting grinned easily, wanting to reinforce for Rogue that this wasn’t a visit, that they were really taking this step. Neither of them would have to be alone again.

“We’ll see, if our room starts to look like yours did in Edolas, I might have to reconsider my options,” Rogue replied, and Sting was glad to see a small smile trying to peek through.

Our room. Sting loved the sound of that, his own room had felt so lonely ever since Rogue had flown home all those months ago. He got stuck in a daydream, thinking about all the times they’d spent in that room together before he left and looking forward to the times they’d be spending in there. Going to sleep together, waking up together. Only his rumbling stomach was able to snap him out of it. 

He quickly put the flowers in the sink and unpacked their bag of food on the kitchen table, dividing the order between the two of them. Shoving two fries in his mouth, he sat down and pulled out the chair next to him, motioning for Rogue to sit there instead of at the other side of the table. With a little bit of effort, he was able to pull his phone out of his pocket, remembering he hadn’t called his parents yet. Searching through the apps until he found the one he was looking for, he leaned closer to Rogue and started a video call. 

His parents seemed to have been waiting for it, considering it barely rang twice before the call was answered, and they were both visible on the screen, waving at him and Rogue.

“It’s working, I can see you!” his mom called out, happily surprised, even though he’d given them a thorough explanation on how to make and answer video calls before he left. 

“Yes, mom, it’s working. Just like it did when we practiced,” he rolled his eyes at her but smiled nevertheless. “We just got home, everything went well.”

“That’s good to hear son, I was concerned your plane might crash under the weight of your luggage.” 

His dad’s joke made Rogue snort loudly and struggle not to choke on the burger he’d just sank his teeth into, but once he’d cleared his mouth he joined in, “It’s a miracle the car would still move forward, thank God all the bedrooms are at the ground floor.”

“Yes, ha ha, you two are hilarious,” Sting sighed. However, he was happy that Rogue was enjoying himself chatting with his dad, even when they hijacked the conversation with another never-ending book discussion. It might not have been his own father he was talking to, but they’d gotten along great from the beginning, so Sting just let them rave on, giving his mother a shrug and digging into his food as he tuned out. 

Eventually, Sting’s mother cleared her throat, sending her husband an amused frown. “Oh, right,” he chuckled, “well, let me know once you’ve finished it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!”

“Will do,” Rogue promised, ”but it might take me awhile, I was thinking about doing some work around the house. And I’m going to look for a part-time job as well.”

“Oh, that sounds great! Make sure Sting gets a job too.” His mother’s words were directed at Rogue, but the stern look she reserved just for Sting, “No lazing around, young man.”

She shifted her tone completely, joyfully chirping, “Well, we won’t keep you away from your dinner any longer. Enjoy the rest of your evening, we’ll talk again soon.”

“Thanks, you too. Bye mom, dad.” They all waved each other goodbye, and Sting ended the call.

Curiously, he turned to Rogue, “Work around the house? That’s new, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking-” Rogue paused to take a sip from his milkshake, “My bedroom is our bedroom now, we should revamp it so that it looks and feels that way. Pick out some stuff we both like, together. I want you to feel at home.”

Overwhelmed by how much that meant to him, all Sting could offer in response was a sappy grin and a tease to stop himself from getting too sentimental. “Bold of you to assume that we can blend our tastes,” he chuckled.

“No, I fully expect it’s gonna look like a unicorn threw up at a Halloween party.”

They fell silent, looking at each other and trying to envision what that would look like, not being able to hold back their amusement for long. It was funny now, but as much as their styles differed, chances were high that it would take a lot of bickering for them to agree on something, and yet, Sting didn’t care. It really did feel like coming home.

0-0

Once dinner and cleanup were out of the way, Sting went to grab his suitcase from the car and rolled it into the bedroom, agreeing with Rogue’s earlier statement that it was a good thing he didn’t have to drag it up a flight of stairs. 

He moved it to a spot on the floor near the bed and took out some of his toiletries to put away in the bathroom. The rest could wait, the effects of all the sugar and caffeine were wearing out, and knowing he was going to crash soon, he’d much rather devote his remaining energy to doing something fun with Rogue. 

They got ready for bed and huddled together under the sheets, a new series on Netflix playing on the tv that they had both been wanting to watch but agreed to wait until they could watch it together. It looked promising from the start, but Sting’s primary focus was on Rogue, who had made himself comfortable lying on his chest. 

Sting had lost track of the number of times he’d pictured this moment a long time ago, but what he knew for sure was that it felt better than he could’ve ever imagined. He placed a kiss on the top of Rogue’s head, carefully removing the elastic band that was holding up his hair in a messy bun. For some reason, Rogue had decided to grow it out. It reached all the way down to his shoulders, and Sting loved the way it looked on him.

“I’ve  _ so _ been dying to do this,” he admitted, reveling in the smooth slide against his fingers and the content hum he received in response as he combed through Rogue’s hair. "And this-" he bent down for a kiss, couldn't stop from grinning as Rogue met him halfway and murmured in mock protest, "I'm trying to watch this," but continued kissing him anyway. 

With the faint noises of the tv in the background, the soft sheets wrapped around them, and Rogue's lips on his skin, Sting found himself rapidly drifting off to sleep. He tried to fight it as much as he could, wanting to stay awake and continue what they were doing, but he never stood a chance. He could vaguely hear Rogue chuckling and wishing him a good night, but then his exhaustion inevitably caught up to him. 

0-0

A week had passed since he’d moved in, and Sting was quickly adjusting to his new life. He’d just come back from his morning run, a habit he’d gotten into when he’d started college. It had been a suggestion from his father, who had said that it had helped him get through med school, making him feel alert for morning classes and giving him more energy throughout the day.

At first, Sting had thought his old man was crazy, considering how exhausted he felt after his first few attempts, but he’d stuck with it, and after a few weeks, he’d started feeling the benefits. 

He turned on the water in the shower and stripped off his sweaty exercise clothes as he waited for it to warm up, making a quick trip to the hamper and grabbing a fresh towel from the linen closet.

Standing under the scalding heat, Sting smiled, humming to himself as he lathered, thinking ahead to what they had planned for today. He and Rogue were going to go shopping for house items knowing that once school started, neither would have the time to do any big projects. Paint, additional shelving, bedsheets, and decorative items to replace some old stuff and give their bedroom a new look were just some of the items on their list. 

He heard the distinctive ring of the doorbell but chose to ignore it, even though he was expecting an important package to be delivered he knew Rogue was probably already up and about by now. When it rang once again, he grumbled but got out, drying his feet on the bath mat before grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his hips. 

At the third ring, he dashed out to answer, not wanting to have to deal with the hassle of waiting and tracking the package down at the delivery service. Sting opened the door to find a man standing outside but no package visible anywhere. Upon closer inspection, and given the immediate frown that crossed his face at seeing him, Sting he was able to easily identify Rogue’s ex and previous bandmate, Totomaru.

Sting held on to his towel firmly, feeling even more naked under the man’s gaze.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Totomaru muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes quickly moving away from Sting and settling on the window just beyond the door.

Sting was a bit confused by the man’s behavior, there was something different about him. He seemed nervous around him, a marked change from his previous barely contained contempt the few times they’d interacted. Not knowing how to react to that, he decided to give him his widest smile in response. “Can I help you with something?”

Totomaru blinked at him, obviously confused by the smile, but he quickly replied, “I was hoping to speak to Rogue?”

Sting heard a noise behind him, and when he turned to see where it had come from saw Rogue looking more agitated than he’d ever seen him before, shaking his head and waving his hands vigorously in response to Sting’s raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s not here at the moment,” Sting made sure to fix his eyes on their visitor, knowing he was a horrible liar on the best of days. “Maybe try calling next time before you show up,” he hadn’t meant to sound so rude, but he didn’t like the way Rogue was acting, it was very unlike him, and that combined with Totomaru’s strange behavior was making Sting think something was up. 

“Right, good idea. I’ll do that,” Totomaru flashed him a nervous smile and, with a small wave, quickly turned around and walked away.

Sting watched him leave, trying to quiet the unease the unexpected visit had created within him. Closing the door, he entered the bedroom and grabbed some clean clothes from the suitcase that still lay sprawled open in a corner by his side of the bed, determined to ask what was going on, but when he reached the kitchen, Rogue was already gone. 

His pack of cigarettes was no longer sitting on the kitchen counter, giving Sting a good idea of where he went, and sure enough, he found him smoking on the deck. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Sting admitted, smiling as he sat down on the bench swing and enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skin. He pretended to drape an arm around an invisible person next to him, quirking his head and giving Rogue the big pleading eyes that said come sit with me. 

“Did you have a good run?" Rogue asked through a cloud of smoke as he claimed the space Sting was offering him. He might have gotten his way with that, but the way Rogue ignored the elephant in the room, on top of both his and Totomaru’s odd reactions from a few minutes ago, further reinforced his earlier feeling, giving Sting weird vibes that he couldn't quite place. 

"Yeah, it was great! I think I saw a new coffee shop on the way, we should check it out sometime." He debated whether he should ask what that was all about or not, but Rogue interrupted him before he had the chance. 

"Sounds good, maybe we can stop by after we're done shopping?" 

And thinking about the day ahead of them, he decided not to risk spoiling the mood. He could always ask later. 

0-0

Sting entered their room, carrying the large box for the shelving unit they had bought at the hardware store. He moved over to the corner to lay it against the wall when his foot got tangled on something. What followed was a loud crash as he lost his balance and fell, losing his grip on the heavy box on his way down. The box ripped open on contact with the hard floor, dumping its million pieces all over the bedroom floor.

“Son of a-” Sting muttered even as he heard Rogue hurry into the room.

“Are you okay?” 

Clearly, Rogue didn’t need to ask what had happened because even though Sting attempted to get some sympathy by putting on his best puppy eyes, Rogue’s face mostly said I told you so.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sting sighed, looking at the mess that was now on their floor, “I guess we should make sure none of the shelves broke and check for all the pieces.

“I’ll do that, why don’t you finally unpack that menace of a suitcase before you manage to kill yourself with it.”

“Fine fine,” Sting grumbled, exiting the room briefly in search of the hangers they had bought.

He wasn’t a neat person by nature. Cleaning up was boring as hell, but he could tell Rogue was not amused by his messiness, and he realized then that the advice he’d gotten from his mother was sound. He was going to have to put in more of an effort now that he was living with someone else, especially one who was so much organized than he could ever hope to be. 

Sting vaulted over the bed, hangers in hand, causing Rogue to scold him once again. Giving his boyfriend one last charming smile, he put his earphones in and got to work. He’d managed to put away most of his shoes and had moved on to putting his nicer shirts and pants on the hangers and into the space that Rogue had cleared for him in the closet.

He noticed a cardboard box sitting on one of the shelves as he looked around for a place to put his exercise clothes and frowned at it thoughtfully. Having already filled the two drawers Rogue had emptied for him with underwear, socks, and t-shirts, there wasn’t really any other place left. With a slight shrug, he decided there was no harm in seeing if there was anything important in it. He tried to grab it with his one free hand but only managed to dump all the contents on the floor instead. Seriously what was going on with him today?

Sting took off his headphones, unsure of whether that had made enough noise for Rogue to notice. When he didn’t hear anything, he put the exercise clothes in the now empty shelf and knelt on the floor, intent on grabbing the items and returning them to the box. 

He stared in astonishment, swiftly recognizing most of the items as things left behind when he’d moved out, and after stopping to read a comic book he’d been missing, Sting put everything back in the box. Even though they were his things, he felt awkward, as though he’d intruded into a part of Rogue’s loneliness he hadn’t been meant to see. 

A piece of paper caught his attention, and he picked it up, wondering what else he might have left behind. Once unfolded, it didn’t take him long to recognize Rogue’s neat handwriting, a stark contrast to what his father liked to call his early attempts at doctor writing. 

For a brief moment, Sting considered folding the paper back up and putting it back in the box with the other items, but knowing his boyfriend, it was bound to be a poem or a song. He was curious as to why it would have ended up in the box in the first place, and once the first few lines had caught his eye, he couldn't stop reading.

_ Even now, I still hear your voice _

_ Even now, I still feel your touch _

_ And today I lived within traces of you _

Sting didn’t know much about music, but he knew feelings, and he could very much sense the pain that lived in those words. His eyes welled up as he continued to read the words that Rogue had written out to try to get him out of his heart, remembering some of the lonely nights he’d endured in Edolas, not being able to let go of Rogue either. 

Many of them he’d spent in his old treehouse so as not to worry his parents. Not that it had mattered, they knew him far too well, and he’d never be able to thank them enough for not only encouraging him to invite Rogue to visit over the holidays but for letting him go so that he could be here now.

He reread the words. They were beautiful and haunting, and all he could think of was that he wanted to hear Rogue play this song, knowing there had to be a melody to accompany it. Driven by how the words had made him feel, he charged back into their bedroom, promptly forgetting that Rogue seemed to have removed himself from his music or how he’d come across the song in the first place.

Sting found that all the pieces to the shelving unit had been laid out neatly on the bed along with the instructions, and although Rogue wasn’t there, he could hear noises coming from the kitchen, so he went in search of him.

“Hey!” Rogue smiled, pointing towards the plates of sandwiches he’d prepared, “I saw you were making some good progress, figured we might want to eat before tackling the shelves. I know how you get when you’re hungry,” he teased.

Sting realized he was indeed hungry the moment he smelled the food, “Good shout,” he complimented, heading to the fridge to grab them some sodas before joining Rogue at the table.

Placing the paper on the table, he took a large bite out of the sandwich, chasing it down with a long swig of the soda.

“What do you have there?” Rogue asked, looking at the paper with interest.

“I found it while I was cleaning up,” Sting hesitated, wondering how best to phrase it, “It was mixed in with my stuff, so I thought it was mine. I was sorta hoping you’d play it for me,” he added, feeling strangely shy. 

Rogue picked up the paper, reading it before balling it up and throwing it in the trash. “I never really did anything with it, it wasn’t very good.”

Sting rushed to the trash bin to grab it before it could get mixed in with the rest of the trash. “What are you talking about, this is amazing!”

“No offense, but you don’t really know anything about music.”

“What is going on with you?” Sting entreated, letting some of his concerns slip out. “You used to love music, it was such a big part of you, and now it’s like it never existed. I haven’t even seen your guitar since I got here.”

Rogue shrugged, but he wouldn’t meet Sting’s eyes, and that was a huge glaring signal that something was indeed wrong. “I got busy, and I just haven’t felt like it lately, that’s all. I’ve been focusing more on my writing.”

“Do you want some ice cream?” Rogue asked, not waiting for a response as he knew Sting well enough to know the answer. He soon returned with two pints and some spoons.

“So, are you all unpacked?” Just like that, the conversation had shifted, and for the second time that day, Sting decided to let it go, but as he ate his ice cream, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was going on, Totomaru had something to do with it. 

0-0

It wasn’t until he was pulled out of it and back to reality that Sting realized he’d been dreaming. The dream vanished from his memory instantly, driven away by slight annoyance because it had certainly been a good one, and even if it wasn’t, he was far from well-rested. That annoyance didn’t stick for long either, as he slowly regained his orientation, he identified the cause of his rude awakening in the middle of the night. 

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had been in the realm of dreams. Feeling movement beside him, he groggily rolled over, finding Rogue kicking at the sheets and groaning in his sleep. 

“Rogue?” Sting rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to get accustomed to the dark, but when it didn’t work, he sat up to turn on the fairy lights he’d brought from home and hung up above their bed. He blinked again, this time to get used to the dim light that was now spreading through the room.

“Rogue,” he repeated, louder this time, gently nudging his arm, “Hey, are you-”

He’d already suspected that Rogue’s dream was less pleasant than the one he had been having, and the distress that showed on his face confirmed that. What he hadn’t been prepared for was to find Rogue clawing at his own throat, leaving raw scratch marks that stood out sharply against the pale tone of his skin. Sting was wide awake now, didn’t even stop to think if it would be a good idea to wake him up or not, nor did he consider what would be the best way to do it. He acted out of pure reflex when he leaned over to grab Rogue’s hands and stop him from hurting himself, forgetting the situation that was a result of his own dream until it brushed against Rogue’s hip. 

Bad move. Bad,  _ bad _ move. For whatever reason, Rogue completely freaked out and started thrashing, and Sting was in an unfortunate position within the range of his knee. 

“OW! MOTHERF-”

It was like the lights went off for a second, an excruciating pain shot through his body and kept coming back in nauseating waves, and all he could do was shove his hands between his legs and curl up into a ball. Trying to breathe through it, Sting prayed to every divine entity he could think of that he wouldn’t violently expel his undigested food while at the same time wondering if he’d ever be able to father children. 

Through his pain, he felt a violent shift beside him, followed by the sound of Rogue gasping for breath. It worried him, considering where Rogue’s hands had been during his nightmare.

At least he was awake now, steadily calming down and noticing Sting’s misery. “What’s wrong? Are you going to be sick?” He expressed his concerns, reaching out his hand to check Sting for a fever.

“Don’t,” Sting warned, and if he wasn’t currently wallowing in his despair, he would’ve likely felt guilty for snapping, “just....give me a moment.”

After what felt like forever, he was finally able to straighten his back and sit up again, and looking at Rogue, he could tell that he’d pieced together the puzzle on his own. He was shocked, withdrawn, and for the second time that day, he wouldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“Rogue, is there something I should know?”

No answer, but Sting wasn’t about to let it slide this time. Whatever was bothering Rogue had led to both of them getting hurt, a now dull ache, and the sight of the angry red marks on Rogue’s throat attested to that. 

“Okay, fine,” he sighed, starting to count on his fingers. “So just to summarize real quick. Your ex shows up out of the blue, acting nervous as hell, and for some reason, you really don’t want him to see or speak to you. Even though last time I checked, you still used to be friends.” 

Sting waited for some sort of response to his statement, but when it wasn’t forthcoming, he continued.

“You’ve completely abandoned something that you once loved, and don’t give me any of that I haven’t been in the mood bullshit," he quickly added when he saw Rogue was about to protest. “It isn’t just the fact that you’re not playing anymore, you don’t even react to music in the same way as you used to.”

“And if that wasn’t enough of a warning bell, I wake up to you trying to gouge your own neck.” Sting stared at the scratches intently, and it didn’t escape him that it was making Rogue really uneasy. “It’s not the first time either. You had a nightmare just as bad as this one in Edolas.” 

He’d been so worked up about the matter that he hadn’t realized he’d been steadily raising his voice until the contrast of the silence between them brought it to his attention. Shit, he didn’t want Rogue to think he was angry, he just wanted to let him know he was worried, that he cared. With that in mind, he softened his voice again, and although he wasn’t sure how Rogue would react, he took the risk and carefully skated his hand over the blanket until it reached Rogue’s, and he could brush over it with his pinky. 

“Please tell me what’s going on,” Sting begged. not bothering to disguise the worry he felt, “because it’s obvious that something is.”

Rogue took a deep breath and sighed immediately afterward, putting Sting on edge for what he had to say, but all hope he had of getting him to talk sunk like a brick when Rogue finally opened his mouth.

“I can’t tell you.”

And to make matters worse, he was getting out of bed, not just dodging the topic but walking away from him. Sting wanted to protest, tell him to get his ass back to bed, ask him why he couldn’t tell him, but to his surprise, Rogue moved over to the dresser rather than leaving the room, and came back holding what Sting easily recognized as the notebook he’d given him for Christmas.

“But I can show you,” he said, holding out the notebook with shaky hands. He waited for Sting to take it, and then he picked his sleep shirt off the floor and left after all.

Sting was torn between a sense of accomplishment, curiosity, and dread, relieved to know he would finally find out what caused Rogue’s sorrows but scared for what he’d find. Opening the book, he concluded that it was a journal, and at first, he wasn’t sure what entry or entries he should be looking for. The first one dated back to January 3rd, the day Rogue had flown back home from Edolas, and although reading about all the good times they’d had brought a smile to Sting’s lips, it gave him nothing to go on. 

He read a few more entries, fascinated by the idea of getting to know Rogue’s thoughts until one caught his attention, a page on which Rogue’s elegant handwriting was messy and smudged in some places. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Sting’s mind, this was the one, it stood out like a sore thumb. His heart began to race as he started reading the first line, containing a date that was ominously out of place.

_ November 27th, 2013 _


	2. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning what happened to Rogue in his absence, all Sting wants is to talk about it and support him as much as he can. Rogue, however, just wants to pretend it never happened, like he's done all along, leaving them on opposite sides.

  
Rogue didn’t want to be by himself, but the alternative was even worse. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Sting’s face when he found out what had happened. Had never wanted him to find out in the first place. 

In hindsight, Rogue wondered what he’d been thinking all this time, offering half-truths and distractions just so he could keep running from his nightmare, knowing god damn well he had nowhere to run. Now his nightmare had finally caught up to him, swept his legs out from beneath him, and caused him to inadvertently hurt Sting in the process. That was something he’d never considered during all those moments when he’d had the chance to be honest. One by one, he’d let them slip away, and now shit was going to hit the fan, and he’d have no one to blame but himself.

What would Sting think of him now? Would he believe him when he said he hadn’t wanted it? That he’d fought Maru off as best he could. Or would he see those as excuses?

Rogue's hands shook as he reached for his pack of cigarettes, desperate for something to do to help take his mind off what was happening in the bedroom. He felt caged, like an animal with nowhere to go but with too much energy to stay where he was. And as much as he’d love to step outside, he knew he’d only feel even more vulnerable. That left him only one choice - the basement.

Rogue descended the stairs to the basement his father and Gildarts had finished years ago, flicking on a single light and walking over to the large bar to examine its contents. He settled on a bottle of the whiskey Gildarts preferred, poured himself a drink, and lit a cigarette as he sat down to wait.

0-0

Sting felt sick to his stomach all over again, and yet he’d read every word twice to make sure that he wasn’t imagining things, letting the sentences they formed sink in one by one. Once he was done, he was still staring blankly at the page, defeated and numb from learning the truth he’d been so eager to learn. 

He hadn’t really had any idea what to expect, but a violent sexual assault had never entered his mind. A part of him understood why Rogue hadn’t been willing to talk about it. Another wondered how he’d been able to carry it around for- he quickly did the math- almost 7 months. And all this time, he’d had no clue. 

If only he’d been more observant, maybe then he would’ve caught on to the fact that there was something more disturbing going on in Rogue’s life than just the issues regarding his family. 

If only he’d taken that little voice in the back of his head more seriously when it had been expressing concerns during the time they’d spent together around Christmas. 

If only he’d known sooner so Rogue wouldn’t have been dealing with this alone for so long.

Screw that. If only he’d never left, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Sting dropped the notebook on the bed as he hid his face in his hands. All the why’s and if only’s were going through his head, repeating themselves like a broken record as he picked at his memory and felt the guilt weigh him down until they led him back to the events of that day. Specifically that morning, when he’d found Totomaru on their doorstep. 

_ “I didn’t know you were back.” _

_ “I was hoping to speak to Rogue?” _

Speak to Rogue? What the hell was this sick fucker getting at? Sting tried but failed to stop himself from imagining what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. If Totomaru had shown up a week or even a few minutes earlier. He should consider himself lucky that Sting didn't know then what he knew now, because if he did, not even his own mother would have been able to recognize him. The towel around his waist would have done nothing to stop him. 

Sting knew he couldn’t stay in this room for much longer, Rogue was bound to be waiting for his reaction, and it wouldn't do him any good if he'd let his emotions prevail, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move. He didn’t know what to do or what to say, and within him, there grew a great fear that somehow he’d only manage to make things worse. Do or say the wrong thing.

But doing nothing at all would be the worst thing he could possibly do. So with no clear idea or plan, he forced himself to calm down and get up from the bed, returning the journal to the drawer from which Rogue had grabbed it, knowing intuitively that his boyfriend wouldn’t want to see it when he returned.

He left the refuge the bedroom afforded him, and when he didn’t find Rogue in the living area or the backyard, he made his way down the basement stairs. 

  
  


0-0

Time had ceased to have any meaning for Rogue as he sat on a barstool in the near dark, its passage only marked by the number of cigarette butts that littered the ashtray and the ounces of whiskey he’d downed as he waited. Its smooth taste bitterly reminding him of better times he’d spent in this room and the people that had been part of them. People that had left him behind or that he had sent away.

The sound of Sting’s approaching footsteps sounded loud in the otherwise silent house, and Rogue could feel his heart begin to race in apprehension. What was he going to say?

His hands, which had finally settled, began to shake once again. In the time he’d sat there, he’d managed to run many scenarios through his head, but he still didn’t know what to expect. 

He moved towards the wall where they kept the cue sticks for their pool table, realizing he didn’t want to be found wallowing in alcohol. He grabbed a stick and approached the table, not bothering to set up a game, merely going after whatever ball was closest. 

He could see Sting's silhouette appear out of the corners of his eyes, casting a striking figure behind the wisps of smoke that curled in the air, but Rogue didn't stop to look up from his game. Sting hesitated for a few seconds, there wasn't a sound but the click of the cue stick hitting a ball and the dull thuds that followed when it bounced back against the felt-covered sides of the pool table. 

"It's been a while," Sting finally pointed out as he made his way over to the bar, grabbing a glass and pouring a drink from the same bottle of whiskey, and it wasn’t until he’d taken a sip and continued that Rogue realized that he was referring to the last time he'd played a game of pool. "Can I join you?" 

Rogue nodded and put his cue down so he could gather the balls and rack them for a standard game of eight ball. They played in awkward silence for a couple of turns, all the while he was wondering if Sting was waiting for him to address the obvious or if he’d decided not to speak about it at all, and Rogue wasn’t sure how to feel about either option. Hoping to find the answer hidden in his expression, he forced himself to look. 

Maybe Sting had been awaiting that or perhaps it was just a coincidence. Either way, he came closer, extending his arms for a hug but stopping at the last second. 

“I’m sorry-” he sat down on the edge of the pool table, “I- I don’t really know what to say... what he did to you was despicable. I get that it was hard for you to talk about, and I wish I hadn’t pressed the way I did.” 

Rogue slowly released the breath he’d been holding in, resting the end of the pool cue on the floor and gripping it firmly with both hands as if it was his only tether to reality. Once again he nodded, to indicate that he understood and harbored no hard feelings towards it. At this point, he was just glad that his story wasn’t being called into question, and even though he wished it had gone differently, he knew that he hadn’t really made any other outcome feasible.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you really needed me,” Sting continued, “if I had been, it wouldn’t have happened.” 

“It isn’t your fault,” Rogue shrugged, focusing his attention back on the game, pretending that that thought hadn’t crossed his mind at least once during his deepest lows. “And we’ll never know that for sure anyway.” 

“Are they always that bad?” Sting asked, and for a moment Rogue was confused, until he remembered the nightmare that had brought all this about.

“No,” he was quick to assure him, “This one was the worst I’ve had in a while.” 

His thoughts inadvertently went back to the nightmare, which used to be a repetitive reconstruction of the attack but had taken a different course that night. 

Instead of the alley, the scene had taken place in their home this time. Starting at the front door and ending in the bedroom. Rogue guessed that his panic at seeing Maru through the peephole that morning had a role in that, but unlike what he’d done then, he was stupid enough to open the door in his dream, with all its terrible consequences.

And dream-him had known exactly what those consequences would be, but still, his body had moved, ignoring his mind even as it had screamed no. 

It had only gotten worse when Sting had tried to wake him up from it, giving the original ending a twist on top of that, but Rogue decided to leave all of that out. There was enough guilt to go around between them as it was, the last thing he wanted was to keep piling it up. He drank what remained inside his glass in one sip, swallowing hard at the burn in his throat. 

“Can I- uhm, can I take a look at your scratches?” 

Rogue stared at Sting blankly, not entirely sure how he felt about it.

“I swear I can hear my dad yelling at me for not doing it already, especially with the smoke.” 

Rogue managed a wry chuckle, knowing Sting wasn’t just trying to be funny. And maybe it was the relief talking or his need for things to return to some sort of normalcy, no matter how slight, but he found himself nodding in silent agreement.

“Okay,” Sting said softly, putting his cue stick back up on the wall and waiting for Rogue to do the same before leading him back upstairs to their bathroom, where they kept all the first aid supplies.

0-0

After washing his hands with antibacterial soap, Sting busied himself searching for the supplies he would need to patch Rogue up. He ran the list through his mind, cotton swabs, hydrogen peroxide, antibacterial ointment, gauze, medical tape. Once he found each item, he placed it on the counter, feeling the weight of Rogue’s gaze as he did so.

Even though he remained outwardly calm, Sting was still reeling from the shock he’d felt at reading the diary. His every move was marked with apprehension, his thoughts carefully filtered and examined before he let them spill out of his mouth, and it was entirely outside the realm of his experience. He’d always been one to just blurt out whatever he was thinking without much thought to the consequences. 

Knowing that could prove disastrous on this occasion, he willed himself to focus only on the angry red marks on Rogue’s neck, hoping that in doing so, he’d manage to keep himself under control. Sting opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and grabbed a cotton swab before turning to find Rogue was indeed watching him, eyes slightly hooded, nose wrinkled in distaste as the smell of the chemical filled the room.

“Do you have to use that stuff?” Rogue frowned, his features settling into a pout. “It always stings.”

Any other time Sting would have been amused by the childish attitude but faced with the seriousness of the scratches in front of him, he could barely muster a reassuring smile.

“It only hurts for a second,” he soothed, “Besides, it needs to be done. Lots of nasty stuff hides underneath your fingernails,” he reminded him, beginning to wet the swab with the hydrogen peroxide, “You don’t want them to get infected.”

As he leaned closer to get a better view of what he’d be working on, he found himself shuddering at the sight of an injury for the first time in years. He’d seen plenty of them, his parents had taken him along to the clinic since he’d been deemed old and responsible enough, and this certainly wasn’t the worst he’d ever laid his eyes on. But it was different when it was someone you loved rather than a random patient, and what unsettled him the most was knowing that Rogue had caused them himself. 

Pressing down the swab as gently as he could manage on the worst of the scratches, he heard the bubbling sound of the chemical as it cleaned out the area and flinched at the accompanying hiss from Rogue. It made him wonder just how badly he had looked after the attack and if he had even bothered to get himself looked at. Sting had a feeling he knew the answer. 

Once again, he was consumed by rage, and he stepped back for a moment, masking his anger under the pretense of wetting another swab. How could anyone do that to another person? He tried his best to shake it off and regain his focus so he could finish the job, but when he approached Rogue again, he noticed him startling and ducking away in reflex, all tensed up.

It had little to do with the peroxide, it was the touch itself that he was having trouble enduring. 

“Would you rather do it yourself?” Sting asked, keeping his tone as neutral as he could manage, offering him the swab after he tried again and noticed the discomfort oozing from Rogue’s features.

Rogue shook his head, and Sting could have kicked himself for being so insensitive. Rogue had written in his journal that he was no longer comfortable looking in the mirror, which he would need to do given the location of the scratches.

“I’ll hurry,” Sting promised, and with trembling hands, he did just that, using up two more swabs before he was done. Nothing in his life had prepared him for dealing with something like this, and to his frustration, the more he tried to be careful, the more mistakes he seemed to make.

What could he possibly say to make Rogue feel better? He racked his brain, trying to think of anything but came up empty.

_ It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong! _

Sting screamed the words so loudly in his head he was sure Rogue must be able to hear them. He threw the bits of bloody cotton in the trash, closing the bottle and reaching for the antibiotic cream.

He hesitated briefly, knowing this part would be tricky as he’d have to touch Rogue’s skin directly. Hadn’t he done that before? During the past week, during Rogue’s visit to Edolas? More than likely, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t remember getting a reaction that hinted at something being wrong. Whether he’d been too caught up in the moment or Rogue had just kept it hidden really well, he disliked both answers. 

“I’m almost done,” he informed Rogue, offering a small smile.

“It’s fine,” Rogue assured him with eyes full of a trust that tore at Sting’s heartstrings. Had he looked at Totomaru like that once?

Sting made himself a promise right then and there that he would strive to always be worthy of that trust. Squeezing a glob of the cream onto his fingers, he moved closer, and although he attempted to appear confident, the shakiness of his hand gave him away. Before he had a chance to say something to lighten the moment, Rogue surprised him by grabbing his wrist and slowly guiding it to his neck. It was a simple gesture, but it broke him all the same.

He felt the tears he’d been holding back stream down his cheeks, and there was nothing he could do to hide them, not when Rogue was so close to him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-,” Sting wiped away at his tears with his other hand.

“That you’re a big crybaby?” Rogue teased him, a reference to all the times Sting had cried during movies. 

“Yeah, that too,” he managed to chuckle through his sniffles, “but I’m...I guess just so overwhelmed. I’m really glad you’re sharing all this with me, but at the same time I’m also angry because this shouldn’t have happened to you, and it wasn’t your fault, and I want to be there for you, but I just don’t know what to do.”

He paused his acute word-vomit to take a breath, but before he could say anything else, Rogue stopped him cold.

“I get that you want to talk about this, and I do appreciate it, but I’m not ready to do that yet,” Rogue refused to meet his eyes, “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s how I feel at the moment.”

Wasn’t ready to talk about it, not ready? What did he mean? It had been seven months already! Sting couldn’t even begin to understand those words. He tried to put himself in Rogue’s place, but he just couldn’t imagine letting something fester for that long.

Still, he felt like he should respect his wishes, even if only for tonight. It had been a long emotional night for both of them, and if that was what Rogue needed to feel better, then he would honor it.

For now.

“Okay,” he replied simply and began to wash the cream off his hand and put the supplies away, not even bothering with the gauze, already knowing Rogue would balk at the suggestion.

0-0

Rogue retreated to the bedroom the moment Sting was done with the cleanup, wanting to get out of the bathroom and away from that mirror. He didn't want to be there for longer than necessary either. One look at the bed had him seeing flashes of the nightmare all over again. So he grabbed his pillow and resigned himself to another night of sleeping on the couch. If he was able to get back to sleep at all, that was. 

Sting had followed him up to the bed but remained there, awkwardly looking back and forth between his sleeping spot and Rogue without a clue of what to do. 

"I'm going to the living room," Rogue announced, clutching the pillow under his arm, "do you want to come with me?" He cringed at the way that sounded because he usually wouldn't even have to ask, let alone wonder what the answer would be. 

"Do you want me to?" 

He forced what he hoped would look like a reassuring smile and nodded. The last thing he wanted right now was to be alone, knowing that it would only cause his thoughts to go rampant again. He doubted that it would be any different for Sting, who returned his smile with an equally weak one and grabbed his pillow off the bed before following him into the living room. 

The scratches on his throat were still stinging from the peroxide, causing them to itch and irritate, and Rogue had to keep himself from making all the time and energy they'd just spent in the bathroom become in vain by scratching at them all over again. He hated the constant reminder, although he knew Sting had been right, and it was better than risking the chance of getting an infection, so he turned on the TV, hoping for some distraction. 

"Wanna Netflix?" he asked, dumping his pillow in the corner of their large L-shaped couch and tucking himself underneath one of the blankets that were lying around. 

"Yeah, sure," Sting replied. He sat down at the other end of the couch, and the sensible part of Rogue told him that it was probably just to give him some space, but the currently more dominant voice of anxiety suggested something else. 

He browsed through the selection of available movies and series until he found something that countered his dark thoughts, a cutesy anime he thought would be right up Sting's alley. The intro started, filling the room with low volume cheerful tunes, but the distance between them set this moment apart from any other they'd spent watching TV together. 

This was precisely what Rogue had feared would happen. The revelation was driving a wedge between them, even if, despite everything, Sting had responded to it better than he could've hoped. He didn't want this, he'd lost and locked out so many people he cared about already, and for once, he was yearning for someone to just hold him and tell him that everything would be okay, without wasting any words on it. 

"Could you sit with me?" he pleaded softly, the idea of asking this from usually touchy-feely Sting so alien it made his gut wrench. He knew that he only had himself to blame for it because of his withdrawn behavior, so now it was up to him to fix it, and thankfully Sting moved closer without any objections. 

Not close enough, so Rogue draped the other end of the blanket over him and curled up against his side. "I'm sorry," he spilled, hoping to get some conversation going and needing to get at least this off his chest, "for uh…kneeing you."

"It's fine," Sting assured him, "I know you didn't do it on purpose. I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time." He hesitated for a few seconds, tentatively wrapping an arm around him, "You know…If you do feel like you're ready to talk about it, I'll always be there. I'm not going anywhere."

It was everything Rogue needed to hear right now, and he didn't even bother to hold back the tears caused by the sudden rush of emotion that came over him. It would've been like carrying sand to the beach anyway because the “I love you” that followed would've shattered any resistance Rogue might have had. 

He somehow managed to get out an “I love you too” and closed his eyes, all of his tension melting away into something as simple as a warm embrace. Mind now at ease, his body was quick to shut itself down, and telling himself that as long as Sting was there, he'd be alright, Rogue had no trouble falling asleep after a nightmare for the first time. 

0-0

The opening theme of episode 6 -or maybe it was 5- was playing joyfully in the background, but even though Sting's eyes had been glued to the tv for god knows how long by now, he still had no idea what the show was about. The light of dawn was creeping in through the dining room’s sliding door, and yet he hadn't slept a wink since he'd woken up from his dream. 

Snippets of phrases he’d read in the journal kept replaying in his head as he looked down at Rogue’s face, finally at peace in his slumber, and he was gripped with an intense desire to protect him from the world. To search out the person who had dared to put him through this hell and teach him a lesson he’d never forget. 

He allowed himself a minute to fantasize about it, but it felt empty. Even though it would be satisfying in the short term, it wouldn’t do anything to change what had already happened, and quite likely might put him on a plane back to Edolas.

No, as frustrating as it was, the only one who could help Rogue out of this situation was Rogue himself. All Sting could really do was to offer him as much support as he was able to ride out this new awkwardness they were experiencing and not let it drive a wedge between them.

And as much as he respected that Rogue didn’t want to talk about it,  _ he _ did. He needed to talk about what had happened and to work out his own role, if any. To know how to help his boyfriend without being always worried he was making things worse, and that left him in a very uncomfortable place. But how was he supposed to process this without betraying Rogue’s trust, and how could he coax him towards a point where he would consider getting help? It wasn’t hard to see, now that he knew what to look for, that Rogue was going to need it to find himself again. 

More than anything, Sting wanted their relationship to work out, he’d moved to Magnolia with lots of ideas and dreams of a shared future after all, and he’d be damned to see it all collapse a week in. He’d find a way, of that he was certain. He was a fighter, and he had no intention of giving up on Rogue without a fight, but he could only hope that that fight wouldn’t accomplish the very opposite of what he wanted.

One thing was for sure: they were in for a rough ride. Some of the worst was yet to come, and as he held on to Rogue as tightly as he dared, Sting tried to catch some sleep, hoping it would give him the energy needed to walk through the emotional minefield again when he’d wake up in a few hours.


	3. Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting is not doing as well as he lets on, choosing to bottle up his feelings in order to appease Rogue's wishes. It all comes to a head during one of his morning runs.
> 
> TW: In this chapter Sting recalls phrases he read in Rogue’s journal which describe details of his assault, and Gajeel makes mention of his injuries. If you think this will affect you please don’t read.

_June 20 , 2014_

This was the furthest he'd gone on a morning run so far, through multiple streets, past the hospital, and the convenience store, and yet Sting wasn't thinking about turning around and going back home. Over a week had passed, and some of the phrases from Rogue’s journal were still on his mind, having never left since the night he’d read them.

_“This is about that stupid blond kid, isn’t it?”_

He ran faster, wiping the sweat that was dripping down his face with the back of his hand. The muscles in his legs were burning as he hadn't taken the time to do proper warm-up exercises, but he didn't stop. Anger, confusion, sadness, and worry had been eating away at him, and for Rogue’s sake, he’d kept them all bottled up. With no other choice he could think of, he’d saved them to be converted into energy during his runs, which now resembled Olympic sprints rather than relaxing morning jogs.

_"...I tell him to piss off, want to get back inside, but he slams me against the wall.”_

Sting shook his head, trying to literally shake that thought away. He’d traded in the playlist full of uplifting pop songs he’d usually listen to for a new one he’d made the previous week. A collection of songs he hadn’t cared much about before but felt connected to now because they matched his feelings. He did his best to focus on the track that was blasting through his earphones but barely heard it over the overpowering sound of Rogue’s voice, supplied by his own mind as a sample of what it would sound like if he’d read him his journal.

_“I’ll make you forget him.”_

He tried to run faster, to outrun the guilt that just wouldn’t leave him, but all he got for his trouble was a stabbing pain beneath his ribcage that left him heaving for breath.

_“His hand closes around my throat, and I can’t breathe.”_

No matter how badly Sting wanted to push through, he couldn’t. His body had had enough, and he was forced to slow down to a walk, knowing stopping completely would be even worse. His pulse raced, his breath came in loud gasps, and the aches of muscles he’d been ignoring began to demand his attention. He knew he’d pay for this overexertion later but couldn’t really be bothered to care at the moment.

A red light loomed ahead, forcing him to look around and determine where he’d ended up as he’d been pretty much running on autopilot. His skin was slick with sweat, and the fact that he could smell himself was a good indicator that he reeked, not to mention he’d also been gone much longer than usual. All of these were reasons why he should really head home, but that thought became moot the moment he realized that he wasn’t far from the studio where Rogue had once rehearsed with Phantom Lord. He’d already begun walking in that direction, his feet leading him to that dreaded alley before he’d ever made a conscious decision.

He felt surprisingly calm as he got closer, the building already visible, and for an instant, he thought it would be alright. He’d just take a quick look, get it out of his system. Then he’d head home and take that shower. If Rogue felt up to it, maybe they could even go to that coffee shop they liked, a peace offering for having taken so long. They could both use the distraction.

Sting reached the building and quickly moved behind it, easily finding his way to the spot where he’d kept Rogue company countless times while he smoked. They’d talked about all sorts of other things, and many times Gajeel and Maru had joined them, Juvia being the only nonsmoker of the group. It hadn’t always been comfortable, but Maru had never given any indication that he was capable of the violence that he’d inflicted on Rogue.

Although it was still a bit early for anyone to be back there, Sting felt uneasy until he was confident the space was empty. It looked just the same as always, with cigarette butts littered every which way. There was nothing to indicate that anything had ever happened there. Even though that wasn’t unexpected, it still irritated him, the rest of the world had moved on while Rogue had never really been able to leave this spot or that moment.

He was getting ready to go when he noticed a large graffiti tag on the wall of the neighboring building and froze.

_“It happens so fast I don’t even realize I’m being turned around until I spot a graffiti tag on the wall in front of me, just over his shoulder. I can’t read what it says, but my eyes stay stuck on it.”_

The tag, an otherwise insignificant detail and a common sight in this part of town, now served as a devastating landmark. Without thinking, Sting scanned the alley, feeling his blood run cold despite the heat from the run and the warm weather when he could pinpoint the exact spot where Rogue had been standing when…

_“I’m waiting for the moment when he lets me go, but then I feel his other hand, cold against my stomach for a second before he shoves it down my pants and starts jerking me off. All I can think is that I want him to stop, but I can feel I’m getting hard regardless. This isn’t real, right? It can’t be.”_

Sting walked over to the tag, needing to touch it and feel the cold hard reality of it on his fingertips. This more than anything else brought home everything that had happened, and with every trace, his anger blazed. Rogue had been here when he’d been attacked. This very tag had been what he’d focused on while it was happening.

_“See? I knew you wanted it...Doesn’t that feel good?” His voice sounds distorted and far away. I’m trying to tear his hands off me, but I’m running out of strength. My head is spinning, spots are dancing in front of my eyes, but the worst of all is that I'm not even sure if I'll come or pass out first."_

He recoiled from the wall and finding some loose rubble on the ground he grabbed it and hurled it unthinkingly at the graffiti, utterly unaware that he was yelling until he heard the echo of it in the otherwise silent space. He continued uncaring, throwing rock after rock under a stream of curse words in two languages, finally giving vent to the rage he’d held back since he’d found out.

“What the crap?!”

Sting startled at the words, heart racing at being caught in such a state, but he bravely turned around to face whoever it was, his most disarming smile at the ready. He was scrambling to come up with some plausible excuse when he recognized the hulking figure of Gajeel Redfox staring back at him.

“Sting?” Gajeel peered at him in disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

Gajeel’s expression gradually changed into one of understanding, and Sting was reminded of Rogue’s words once again.

_“I think Gajeel knows…”_

Sting blinked, Rogue had described how Gajeel had invited himself to his house and taken care of him right after the attack, as well as his and Juvia’s efforts to stay in touch even after he had quit the band. There were so many questions he wanted to ask the man in front of him, but they’d never been particularly close. He bit his lip, debating what to do.

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Gajeel led the way into the building, his hand fishing around in his pocket for something.

Soon they were standing in front of a vending machine, and Gajeel was counting out change and inserting it into the machine, picking a sports drink from the many options.

“Here, you look like you ran a marathon or something,” he commented, taking in Sting’s bedraggled appearance with a scrunched up nose, "smell like it too."

Sting accepted the drink that Gajeel tossed him, smiling gratefully at the gesture. “I didn’t realize I had made it this far out,” he admitted truthfully.

Gajeel walked over to the front desk and grabbed a set of keys, peering down at a clipboard briefly before heading over to one of the many rehearsal spaces. Sting followed without question, gulping down the sports drink in its entirety in the time it took them to move through the building.

They entered a room that was very similar to the one Phantom Lord had practiced in. It was full of amps and other miscellaneous musical equipment, and that was about as much attention as Sting gave to their surroundings, anxiously waiting to see what Gajeel wanted to talk to him about.

“I didn’t realize you were already back,” Gajeel mentioned, once again examining Sting.

“Yeah, I got here about 2 weeks ago,” Sting replied, feeling impatient by the turn the conversation was taking. He wasn’t interested in pleasantries, and he’d never thought Gajeel to be one to partake in them, but he also didn’t know how to get at what he wanted besides blurting out, tell me what you know. Luckily, he didn't have to. Gajeel already seemed to be on to him.

“I thought about contacting you back then,” Gajeel muttered, “If I had thought it would have done any good, I would have.”

Sting remained silent, although he couldn’t help but think that he wished Gajeel would have. Would they have been able to convince Rogue to get help between them? Probably not, Rogue’s stubborn streak was a mile long, and having the two of them working at him would have more than likely made things worse, but at least he wouldn’t have dealt with it on his own for so long.

“Did he tell you about it?” Gajeel asked, making no effort to clarify what it was. They both knew if Sting was there, they were speaking about the same thing.

“No, he, uhm, let me read his journal, he won’t really talk about it.”

“Stubborn brat,” Gajeel murmured under his breath, but Sting caught it just the same, and he nodded in wholehearted agreement.

Gajeel pulled out two foldable chairs and sat down, not waiting for Sting to do the same before he started recounting his side of the story. “Juvia and I had been calling and texting him for two days, but he didn't respond, and neither did Maru. It was strange, you know, one moment Rogue stormed out for a smoke **,** the next he’d vanished and Maru showed up walking funny and sporting a broken nose, with nothing but a lame excuse for an explanation.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and fidgeting with one of the many rings that decorated his fingers. “At first I didn’t know what to think about it, Maru said they’d gotten into a fight and Rogue ran off, but it just didn’t make any sense. I mean, yeah, they both have a bad temper at times, but if it was just a fight, Rogue would’ve at least picked up his guitar and come ranting about it to me.”

“Right,” Sting agreed, remembering all too well how Rogue had gone off about what had taken place between him and his brother. He wasn’t one to hide his feelings, unless it would put him way out of his comfort zone, and simply getting into a fight would never have done that. “So was that when you decided to show up at his house?”

“Yeah. I went to Rogue’s, Juvia went to Maru’s, and then we met to compare notes. Maru stuck to his story, but one look at Rogue was all I needed to know he was full of shit. There was no way in hell those injuries were the result of a regular fistfight, not to mention he was acting off.

“Anyhow, once I talked to Juvia, I decided to go talk to Maru myself,” Gajeel continued smoothly, glossing over the part that Sting needed to know.

“Wait, what injuries, how was he acting?” Sting all but threw himself at the chair that Gajeel had unfolded for him, scooting it a little closer.

Gajeel looked down at his phone, his expression unsure. “He had bruises on his throat, tried to hide them behind some ugly as fuck scarf, but the worst was his eyes. I mean, his pupils are already reddish normally, but there were no whites,” Gajeel explained.

“You took a picture, didn’t you?”

Gajeel nodded, “He doesn’t know I did, though. I just figured if he decided to report it, it would help.”

“I want to see it,” Sting demanded, so consumed by the need to know that he didn’t stop to think how it would affect him.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Gajeel hedged, “You’re already pretty riled up.”

‘I need to see,” Sting amended, “I need to know how bad it was so that I can help him.”

“We both know that’s bullshit. You don’t need that to help him, you want to see it so you can justify kicking Maru’s ass. Trust me, I’ve been there, and I already kicked his ass. Right before I dragged him to a counseling session. Maru has learned his lesson, and if you go after him, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Excuse me, what?!” Sting sputtered, not believing Gajeel would dare defend Maru after what he did.

“You heard me,” Gajeel’s tone was affable, but there was no ignoring the steel that lay underneath it. “It’s been seven months, Sting, Totomaru understands what he did was fucked up. He’s put in hours upon hours of therapy, something we both know Rogue needs to do as well. He wants to apologize, to try to make it up to him somehow. You coming in half-cocked and shaking everything back up after all this time is only going to mess both of them up.”

“He wants to _apologize_?” Sting blinked as he repeated what Gajeel had said, just to make sure he’d heard it correctly, “So that’s why he showed up last week and triggered a nightmare that was bad enough for Rogue to claw his own fucking throat out! I bet he’ll be thrilled to know that, and I’m sure that fixes _everything_!”

“Of course it doesn’t, smartass!” Gajeel snapped back at him, “Have you even been listening to what I just said?! I’m not trying to justify his actions, what I’m saying is that it’s no good to keep dwelling on the past. For any of us.”

“I get that this is all new to you and you’re upset, I was too, but Totomaru, Rogue, Juvia and myself have been carrying this shit around since November.” Gajeel’s voice turned softer, more sullen, “Do you think I haven’t felt guilty? Not a day goes by without me thinking, what if? I know Juvia feels the same, I know you feel the same, but if there’s one piece of advice I can give you, it’s to clamp down those thoughts because it’s pointless.”

Sting hated to admit it, but he knew Gajeel was right. As much as he’d love to plant his foot in Totomaru’s face or grab his drumsticks and stick them where the sun won’t shine, it wouldn’t change a thing. It wouldn’t make him feel better or make his guilt disappear, and it certainly wouldn’t do Rogue any good either. All it was was an unhealthy coping mechanism, and at its core, it was all about living out some sick fantasy at the cost of someone else, making him no better than Totomaru.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “so what do we do now? Like you said, it’s been seven months, Rogue still refuses to deal with it and ever since that nightmare he’s been getting worse.”

“Worse, how?” Gajeel looked at his watch and dug through his pockets for his cigarettes, taking one out of the package and tucking it behind his ear.

“Well…” Sting thought about the past week and all the things he’d noticed about Rogue that were different from his usual behavior. “He eats less, barely sleeps, lacks the motivation to do pretty much anything, has these unpredictable mood swings, completely spaces out from time to time...Do I need to continue?”

“No, I get your point,” Gajeel nodded, standing up from his seat and jerking his head towards the door as a command for Sting to follow him back out. “I need a smoke to go with this before I get to work.”

“Oh, now that you mention it, he’s chain-smoking,” Sting remembered as he tailed Gajeel like a puppy. They went back outside, not to the alley but through the front entrance, ending up at the main road. Gajeel lit his cigarette and leaned against the wall of the building, blocking his eyes from the sun with one hand, and when he spoke again, his words came as a complete surprise to Sting.

“This is gonna sound weird, but...I’m happy to hear all that.”

“What? Why?” Sting stared at him in disbelief.

“Because that sounds like a depression, which means he’s at least processing it. Juvia and I subtly tried to get him to talk, but he just kept ignoring our questions and pretended that nothing ever happened. That doesn't mean that we should just ignore it and let it spiral out of control, though.”

Sting felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and didn’t have to look to know who that would be. Shit, he’d been gone for way longer than usual already, and he didn’t want to stay away for much longer, but he still had so many questions.

_Hey, are you okay? Don’t tell me you got lost or anything xxx_

“I’m curious, how did you get him to show you that journal?” Gajeel wondered.

“Hm? Oh, I uuh-” Sting quickly typed his reply, saying he got carried away but would be home soon, “I kind of pushed him to do it after that nightmare. It probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but-”

“It was. Rogue needed someone to give him that push, otherwise, he’d never have admitted it. Maybe I should’ve done it sooner.”

“Then, why didn’t you?”

“Because he looked so miserable that I didn’t dare make it worse.” That was a sentiment Sting could relate to very well, facing the same dilemma.

Gajeel took a deep sigh and took out his phone again. “I wasn’t going to do this,” he muttered, eyeing Sting cautiously, “and frankly, I regret ever taking this because it still haunts me.“ He swiped across his screen, and Sting could tell precisely when the picture popped up from the way his expression changed alone. Gajeel looked away from the screen and at Sting again, hesitating to show him the picture until Sting gave him a small nod.

He wished he hadn’t.

Just like Gajeel had said, Rogue’s eyes immediately stood out. The intense red of his pupils had quite literally bled through to the whites of his eyes, and the dark circles underneath them were a good indicator of how little he’d slept. The bruises Gajeel mentioned weren’t hard to miss either, purplish-red and oval-shaped, peeking out above the scarf that was loosely wrapped around Rogue’s neck. The “ugly as fuck” scarf that Sting immediately recognized as his own, and that spoke volumes about Rogue’s feelings. As did the sweater he was wearing, a hockey jersey that could’ve only been Gray’s. A fat lot of good either one of them had done him, Sting thought bitterly.

“I-I have to go…” he stuttered, feeling suddenly dizzy.

“Sting?” Gajeel eyed him with growing concern.

“I’ll be fine,” Sting somehow managed to muster up a smile, “Thanks for talking to me, I think I have a better idea of what we’re up against now.”

“I'll make sure to pay Rogue a visit soon, it's been way too long already, but I was swamped with work, the shelter, finals, and graduation. In the meantime, if there’s any way I can help, just give me a call.” Gajeel gave him his number then took one last drag from his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot. He gave a few firm pats to Sting’s shoulder before heading back inside the studio.

The journal's phrases echoed through Sting's head once again, only now they were linked with the image that he couldn't shake. Rogue’s eyes haunted him, not just the injury but the defeat reflected in them. He tried to walk home, but the dizziness returned, making everything around him feel too loud, too bright.

Sting continued blindly, almost jumping out of his skin when he felt an arm grab him and pull him back seconds before a loud car horn blared.

“Look where you’re going, asshole!”

The words raced past him, and still, he had no idea what had happened.

“Are you alright?”

Sting could only nod, his heart still pounding. “Thanks,” he finally managed, eyeing the man who had apparently saved him from being run over. He was tall and lean with dark hair that was held up in a gravity-defying ponytail, somehow managing to stand straight up while the ends curved above his head.

“Maybe you should sit down, you don’t look so good,” the man commented, and before Sting could protest, he was being led across the street and to the park.

“I’m really fine,” Sting tried to assure him, but the man ignored him.

“It’s a nice day, can’t hurt to sit in the park for a bit, enjoy the flowers,” the man suggested, guiding him to a bench near the park gardens. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“You’ve been kind enough already, I’ll just sit here for a little bit,” Sting smiled, hoping the man would leave him alone now that he’d made sure he was alright, and although he didn’t seem entirely convinced by Sting’s words he eventually left.

The flowers were most definitely beautiful, and although he didn’t know much about them, there were some he quickly recognized from his mother’s garden, sunflowers, petunias, and zinnias among them. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see her kneeling on her gardening cushion as she tended to her plants, hear her soft patient voice as she tried to show him the proper way to care for some plant or other, and he was hit with a massive pang of homesickness.

Both his parents had always been so easy to talk to, listening without judging and offering advice when he asked for it. While most of his friends had been terrified of their parents finding out about their orientations or career choices, he’d had long discussions on both subjects.

They weren’t perfect by any measure, but his parents had always listened to him, and even when they disagreed with his choices, they’d never tried to stop him. Sting only wished they were here now when he felt so lost and out of his depth.

 _Could_ he ask them for advice? They were only a phone call away, but if he did decide to go that route, it would mean that he’d have to disclose the assault, share something private that wasn’t really his to share. He doubted Rogue would be enthused about the idea even if he asked him first, and asking or not, he'd be playing with the level of trust Rogue had in him.

But Rogue was hurting, and he wasn’t getting any better, and despite Gajeel’s optimism, Sting had a nagging suspicion his boyfriend was actually getting worse. Something had to give somewhere, and he was determined that it wouldn't be their relationship.

He bit his lip as he went back and forth in his mind, arguing both sides, trying to come to some sort of decision that he could live with.

He was already dialing his father's number, filled with a need to hear his voice, even if only to have him tease him over calling him at work, desperate for some sense of normalcy, just for a few minutes. A brief escape from this situation that he had no control over and no clear direction to follow.

He was just going to say hi, tell his dad he missed him, maybe call him an old man.

The phone rang several times, and just when Sting thought he’d get his father’s voicemail, there was a click on the other line.

“Sting? Isn’t it a little early for a call?” The sound of his father’s cheerful voice surrounded him, cocooning him in its warmth and familiarity, and that was all it took for him to fall apart.

“Papa,” Sting choked out. All the fear and heartache he’d experienced over the last week, every awkward interaction, every worry, they all tried to burst out at the same time, remaining lodged behind a giant lump in his throat.

Upon hearing the distress in that single word, one Sting hadn't used since he was little, his father’s voice immediately switched to concern, “What’s wrong, son?”

“I don’t know what to do,” was all Sting managed before hearing his father talk to someone in his office.

“Cancel all my appointments for the afternoon.”


	4. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sting finally returns home, he dreads having to tell Rogue why he's been out for so long. Not only does he have to confess he told his father everything, but he also needs to mention he has made an appointment with a therapist, a friend of his dad's, who he will be meeting at the coffee shop the next day.

The sound of the key twisting in the lock startled Rogue out of his sleep. He hadn't meant to doze off on the couch, but his nights were short, and the warmth of the sun rising on the side of their bedroom caused him to wake up early, so he should've known it was bound to happen the moment he'd sat down to watch tv as he waited for Sting to return from his run. 

His phone must've been in his hand when he'd fallen asleep, as it was now laying right next to him on the couch with the messaging app still open, the text Sting had sent him as a reply displayed on the screen. Looking at the time, Rogue noticed that had been nearly two hours ago.

"Hey, sorry I was gone so long," Sting called from the hallway as he kicked off his running shoes, "I wanted to call you, but my battery died."

There was something off about his voice, it was missing its usual verve and sounded even less like him than it had over the past days. Rogue rubbed the blurriness of sleep out of his eyes and pulled himself off the couch, getting ready to ask why he'd been out for close to 4 hours, but as soon as he saw Sting trudging into the living room, the words got stuck in his throat. He looked exhausted, sweaty, his hair all messed up and sticking to his forehead, and he could flash him that sweet smile all he wanted, but Rogue could easily see that he had been crying. 

Worry broke through Rogue's sleepy daze, quickly followed by the heaviness of guilt at the thought that Sting's tears were somehow a result of how dismally the last week had gone. Even though he'd been checked out for large parts of it, Rogue still knew that it was nothing like what they had excitedly planned over phone conversations.

Instead of visits to amusement parks and beaches, the furthest they had ventured out had been the coffee shop. Sitting together on their bench swing to read or watch the sunset was certainly pleasant enough, but it was a far cry from frolicking in the surf or going on fast paced rides, both of which were much more Sting's style.

To his credit, Sting had not complained once about their lack of activity, in fact, he'd been nothing but supportive, even managing to rein in his natural rambunctiousness so that Rogue could get rest. Had Rogue done anything for him in that time?

Try as he might, he couldn't think of a single thing, and that realization made him sad. He was well aware that in many ways, Sting was waiting on him, and it was frustrating that he couldn't seem to move in any direction. That stupid nightmare had destroyed all the progress he'd made in the last few months, hurtling him right back to those first days after the attack. He needed to do better before he managed to lose the one thing that had been holding him together.

Arming himself with courage, he forced himself to stay in the moment, to take care of Sting for once, regardless of how much he feared his response. "What happened?"

"I- uh…" Sting took a deep breath that only fed into Rogue's fear, his heart racing as he tried not to let his imagination run away with him while he waited for Sting to say something. 

When a minute had passed, and Sting still hadn't said anything Rogue began to feel awkward and hoping to come up with something to break the silence he looked down at himself, trying to remember how many days he'd been wearing the same set of clothes. To his great embarrassment, he wasn't even sure. He certainly didn't smell pleasant. Not that Sting did either at that moment.

That gave him an idea, one that would hopefully relax Sting enough to be able to tell him whatever was bothering him. "Come on," Rogue beckoned Sting to follow, only stopping long enough to get two clean towels from the linen closet.

He entered his parents' bedroom, which he usually kept closed, leading Sting to their bathroom and the jacuzzi tub it contained. He rarely used it because it was such a pain in the ass to clean up after, and although he wasn't particularly looking forward to it now either, he was willing to put up with it so they could share a nice moment together. At least, he hoped so. 

The change of scenery seemed to loosen Sting's tongue, "This is nice," he said as he looked around the large room that was decorated in the blues that both his parents loved. It was devoid of pictures at the moment as his parents had taken the frames with them to the house they were renting in Alvarez, but Rogue could remember the location of each and every one.

Refusing to let himself get caught up in more sad thoughts, he quickly entered the bathroom, knowing Sting would follow. He ran the tap, and as they waited for the tub to fill up, he dove into his mother's bathroom cabinet, picking some brightly colored bath bomb from all the fancy bath supplies she kept there and putting it on top of the laundry basket along with their towels. 

"We should rinse off first," he pointed out, frowning in disgust at the staleness of his t-shirt when he pulled it over his head. He didn't know why, maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was because he felt now wasn't the time to be ogling Sting as he was undressing and needed an alternative, but once he'd taken his clothes off, his eyes were drawn to the mirror above the sink.

He didn't see what he'd feared to see, the flashback of his own reflection from right after the attack he'd sometimes see when facing a mirror, but the reality wasn't exactly a load off his mind either. 

"You should've told me I looked like an escaped convict," he mumbled while staring at the combined result of his lack of sleep and personal care.

"I mean, I didn't fall for you just for your appearance," Sting retorted weakly.

It was a sweet thing for him to say, and Rogue knew that, but the bitter thought that whatever it was he did end up falling for was probably hard to find was stopping him from feeling touched by it. He quickly tore his gaze away from the mirror again before thoughts like these could get the chance to take root and grow, which would only cause him to turn in on himself even more.

Grabbing Sting's hand, he led them into the shower. "It's probably going to be cold, we're already using hot water for the bath, so…"

"It's fine, I'm all warm and sweaty anyway," Sting shrugged, but when Rogue turned on the water, he yelped and squirmed around, just as Rogue expected. 

A soft chuckle escaped him, as he felt glad to see some of his boyfriend's usual silliness return. He grabbed one of the bottles of shampoo and quickly started lathering Sting's hair and body, offering a little bit of warmth.

"T-T-Thanks," Sting managed through clattering teeth before hesitantly returning the favor. 

Under different circumstances, if they weren't hurrying to get out from under the cold stream as fast as they could, and if they hadn't both been agitated, it could've been romantic. A preface to something more intimate, the likes of which their relationship had lacked over the past week. That was another thing Rogue regretted, and yet, as much as he'd tried and wanted to, he couldn't break through the veil of numbness he was trapped in. He wished that it was different. 

Much to Sting's relief, Rogue turned off the shower, deeming them clean enough to get into the now half full bath. He lowered himself into the water slowly, giving his body time to adjust to the change from cold to hot, unlike Sting, who all but dove right in. 

"Go ahead and chuck it in," he said, giving Sting the bath bomb, hoping that fiddling with the packaging would de-stress him a bit as well. He took in Sting's expressions, the concentration on his face as he peeled away the plastic layer and aimed for the trash bin to throw it away. 

Sting missed and apologized immediately, "Sorry, I'll go pick it up and throw it out-" he got up, but Rogue grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

"Later," he told him softly. He could care less about leaving a mess right now. He just wanted them both to relax and enjoy the bath. 

Sting gave him another weak smile and dropped the bath bomb into the water, watching absently as it fizzed and gave off a deep purple color and the scent of lavender. 

"Please don't be mad at me," he mumbled, seemingly out of nowhere, causing Rogue to once again tense up with nerves as he wondered what he should be mad about. Not quite knowing how to filter his racing thoughts to form a response, he just reached out to grab Sting's hand under the water and waited for him to continue.

"I just-I don't know…I want to be there for you, but I don't know how and it's frustrating me. I guess I've been taking out those frustrations on my runs."

Rogue nodded, having noticed that Sting had been gone a bit longer and came back more tired from running than he usually did. He wished he'd taken that more seriously as a sign. 

"It hasn't really helped, though," Sting sighed, "so today I ran, and I ran, and I ran...and I ended up near the studio. I'm not sure why I thought it was a good idea to go into that alley, but I did, and it really fucked me up."

Rogue flinched, just thinking back to that place, feeling the cold, rough bricks against the back of his head all over again. Smelling the rain and seeing a flash of a dirty wall with a work of artistic vandalism on it.

"I'm sorry, I know you don't want to talk about it, and I get that. I can't even begin to fathom how it must be for you if it's already having such a big effect on me, but that's just the problem. I can't ignore the effect it's having on me anymore."

Rogue could only keep nodding and feel terrible for how difficult he'd been making this. What would he have done if it had been the other way around? If Sting had been the one assaulted and he'd be the one experiencing the fallback of it? 

Rogue wished he could say he'd know the right thing to do, what even was the right thing to do when it was all just so wrong? 

"I-" Sting hesitated, taking a deep breath as he readied himself to go on, "I called my dad," he finally spilled, "and I told him everything." 

Rogue let that sink in. The first reaction he had to it was a deep sense of shame, giving him the desire to shrink into himself. He liked Sting's parents a lot and hated to think about how this might change their opinion about him. 

"What, uhm, what did he say?" Rogue stammered, not noticing he'd begun to shake until he felt Sting's arms surround him and heard the word  _ Easy  _ whispered in his ear until he stopped.

"Mostly, he just listened. He's upset that it happened, and uhm, maybe a bit worried about you," Sting cleared his throat nervously, "but he told me I had to let you deal with it in your own way, even if I didn't agree with how you're going about it."

Rogue had to admit he was surprised by that, he'd expected a doctor to demand he undergo some sort of treatment, and he was immensely grateful, even though that advice didn't help Sting's situation any.

"Still, he must think I'm pretty stupid for not doing anything," Rogue mumbled, wondering what his relationship with Sting's father would be like now that he knew about what had happened.

"He thinks no such thing, and you don't have to worry about my mom finding out, he promised to keep it between us," Sting sighed, "He just- he wants us both to get better."

Rogue felt Sting shift in the tub until he was gazing at him earnestly, "I want that too. I love you, none of this changes that. But-," Sting looked away for a moment before fixing him with a determined expression,"  _ I _ need to talk about it, to work through my own guilt and anger before it has the chance to tear us apart."

Rogue wanted to assure him that there was nothing for him to feel guilty about, but Sting wasn't finished, "I made an appointment to speak to a psychiatrist, I'm meeting him tomorrow." 

Those words were enough to silence him. He wanted to protest because Sting shouldn't have to go that far just to be with him, but he was also filled with admiration for his boyfriend. He wasn't floundering in the shadows. It had taken him all of one week to go from there's a problem to actively trying to fix it, and it was a worldview that was so alien to Rogue.

How many times in his life had he just ignored problems until they either went away on their own or the decision was taken out of his hands? It was the only way he knew how to be, this was really the first time that approach hadn't really worked. They'd be spending their first time naked in a hot tub together a lot differently if it had, not to mention what should've been the summer of a lifetime. 

But the summer wasn't over yet, and Rogue wanted to make the best of the time they had left before they were bogged down with school. If Sting was doing his best effort to improve their situation, then so should he. The idea of going to therapy still sent him into a panic, but the least he could do was take better care of himself. Shower and get dressed every day, even if he ended up staying at home. Stop skipping meals and eat more regularly. Maybe he could pick up his workouts again or try tagging along with Sting for morning runs if he could manage to fix his sleep schedule a bit. 

It all sounded so simple, but he knew it wasn't going to be since he'd struggled with it all week. Still, he was determined to try. He'd have to start somewhere, and with that in mind, he vowed that the first thing he'd do once he was out of the bath was to shave off that awful stubble. 

The water in the tub had finally risen past the jets, so Rogue turned it off while thinking about what he wanted to say. "I love you too," he responded simply, "and if talking to someone about what happened is what you need, then that's what you should do." 

"Thanks," Sting offered him a small smile, already looking more untroubled than he had when he'd first arrived, making Rogue glad he'd offered his approval even if he understood Sting didn't need it.

They lay together in the warm water, just holding each other as the jets came to life, letting them massage their tired bodies into a state of relaxation, one that hopefully would stay with them for a while.

0-0

  
_June 21, 2014  
  
_

Even though Sting had talked to the man he was about to meet on the phone the previous day, he still felt nervous, unsure of what to expect. He'd never gone to a therapist before, although he'd never been against the idea. Ever since he was young, his father had drilled into him that healing the mind was just as critical as healing the body, and he accepted that as fact. It was one of the reasons he had so much trouble understanding Rogue's reluctance to getting help.

Despite the pain in his legs, Sting had decided to walk to Magnolia Bean, the coffee shop they'd agreed to meet at, in the hopes it would help him organize his thoughts so he didn't sound like a raving lunatic when they talked. There was so much he wanted to get out, and he knew, of course, that he wouldn't be able to get through it all in one meeting.

Arriving at the coffee shop sooner than he would have liked, he scanned the customers. Dr. Aileron had told him he'd know him the second he saw him, and Sting couldn't help but wonder if this was some kind of test. No one really drew his attention. It was the usual mix of weekend shoppers, couples, and friends hanging out. A few people were sitting with their laptops open, and he focused on these first, assuming the doctor would have been working.

It was only on his second scan that Sting noticed the man who was sitting in one of the coveted armchairs, seemingly scanning the room as he sipped his oversized mug. He was older, with a bald head which was nowhere as attention-grabbing as the clothes he was wearing, a pair of striped shorts in bright hues of pink and purple, topped by what could only be described as a magenta cami with wings peeking from either side of his rather broad shoulders. Somehow Sting knew he had found his man, and all his nerves vanished, figuring someone who dressed like that probably gave precisely zero fucks about what anyone thought. He sure as hell wasn't going to judge.

He walked straight up to him and, with a grin, introduced himself, "Dr. Aileron? I'm Sting Eucliffe."

"Call me Bob," the man replied instantly, returning his smile, "and of course you are, you're the spitting image of your father! How is old Weisslogia doing?"

"Pretty good, working hard as always, he's been volunteering long hours at the clinic," Sting responded, trying to decide whether he wanted coffee or not as he examined the long line.

"Ah yes, the clinic, I did some volunteering there myself some years ago," Bob peered at him with a smile, "Sit down, sit down!"

Sting sat in the chair across from the psychiatrist, not entirely sure how he was supposed to act." Do you often see patients here?"

Bob laughed, "Well, technically you're not a patient yet, you are my friend's son, but no, I have an office nearby. I like to hold patient interviews here, though. I find meeting in a familiar place is more relaxing, a lot of people feel anxious when faced with the office. They go in expecting to see the fabled couch."

"You don't have a couch?" Sting asked, puzzled. He had to admit that was what he'd envisioned too.

"I do, and a bean bag and a lot of other things, truth be told it's kind of a circus in there." Bob waved his hand at one of the baristas to get her attention, "Karen honey, can you make my friend here a..." he looked at Sting with a raised eyebrow.

"Uhm, coconut vanilla latte with extra sugar," Sting recited, surprised by Bob's amused snort.

"A coconut vanilla latte with extra sugar, hell, add some whipped cream while you're at it and put it on my tab, "Bob finished his request, "I might as well live vicariously through you, that much sugar would probably kill me."

The woman set to work on the order immediately, making Sting wonder just how often Bob was in here.

"So Sting, son of my dear friend, what is it that brings you to me?" Bob asked, calmly taking another sip from his coffee. "I know you told me Weisslogia recommended you talk to me, but I want to assure you that anything you tell me will remain confidential. I won't be calling him to give him any reports of our sessions."

"It's okay, he already knows everything," Sting explained," he felt you'd be able to help me."

Bob smiled at that, seemingly happy that Weisslogia held so much confidence in his abilities and waited for Sting to speak.

Sting tried to figure out how to phrase everything he wanted to say, fully conscious of Bob's observing eyes. The silence was only interrupted by the appearance of Karen delivering Sting's coffee. He waited for her to return to the counter before speaking.

"Well, you see, my boyfriend was sexually assaulted by his ex while I was back home and he refuses to deal with it, he's not sleeping and -"

"Let me stop you right there," Bob leaned forward, his expression turning serious, "I'm not here for your boyfriend, I'm here for you. Therapy isn't something that can be done through middlemen, and it certainly can't be forced. If he would like to get help I would be more than happy to find some time to see him, or even both of you if you wanted to do some couples therapy, but otherwise, I want to hear about you, or at the very least about how the situation is affecting  _ you _ ."

"I-," Sting was at a loss for words. Could he really do that? Just talk about his own feelings while Rogue continued to struggle...His father had said something similar, but it still felt selfish on his part to be talking to someone about how all of this made him feel, shouldn't he be finding Rogue help instead? He considered the idea of couples therapy briefly but immediately knew Rogue would never agree.

"We have to take care of ourselves before we can take care of others," Bob interrupted his thoughts, "People tend to forget that."

"I just, I don't know what to do," Sting admitted, "I feel like I'm constantly walking on eggshells, afraid I'm going to make things worse."

"That sounds like a very stressful way to live," Bob affirmed, "But you have to understand sexual assault is a very tricky thing, especially in regards to men. Our society imposes so many unrealistic expectations and ideas on what it means to be a man. It makes it that much harder to admit or accept that such a thing can happen to them."

"I just want to help him, but the more I try, the more distant he gets," Sting clenched his fists in frustration, "and I feel so much anger on his behalf, and guilt and I can't help but wonder… would it have happened if I hadn't left? I worry all the time, what if this is the thing that breaks us?"

His eyes turned misty at the thought, "I left everything to be with him, Bob. He's my future. I don't want to lose that, but when I look in his eyes lately… it's like no one's home."

"I sometimes forget how urgent young love is, but there's no need to fret just yet," Bob smiled kindly. "I think you'll find talking to me about what's bothering you and finding different ways to work through your emotions without burdening him with them will already help your situation immensely. Remember, this happened to him, not you. You can't make him responsible for your reactions to it."

It was such a simple idea, and it made sense. Had he been trying to do that? Sting thought about why it was so important for him to talk to Rogue about what had happened. 

He had to admit that while he obviously wanted his boyfriend to start moving forward, he also couldn't discount that among other things he was looking for some kind of absolution of guilt from Rogue, and he was ashamed.

"We're all only human, Sting," Bob pointed out, "There's always room for improvement. That said, I think we have a lot to work on. How do Tuesday afternoons sound?"

"That should be fine," Sting assured him, finally taking a sip from his coffee. Just knowing he was going to have a place where he could talk about his feelings was already making him feel less stressed.

"Wonderful," Bob mumbled, pulling out his phone and making some quick notes on it. He grabbed a business card from a hidden pocket in his case and handed it to Sting, his appointment already written on it in neat handwriting.

"What if Tuesdays hadn't worked for me?" Sting chuckled.

"Well, then I would have had to do some reshuffling," Bob grinned, "Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Now tell me," Bob gazed at him intently, "Does your mother still make that heavenly strawberry rhubarb pie?"

Sting laughed out loud at the unexpected question, "She does, treat me well, and I might just put in a good word for you."

Bob gave a high pitched giggle, "Oh, you! I think we're going to get along just fine."

They spent another twenty minutes chatting about his parents and Bob's time in Edolas until his time was up. Sting left after buying some treats for Rogue, enjoying the walk home and feeling more relaxed than he had since reading the journal. He looked forward to his appointment on Tuesday.

0-0  
  


_June 24, 2014_  
  


Rogue waited for Sting to come home after his first appointment, not really sure what to expect. He hated feeling like he'd driven Sting to therapy, and he couldn't quite understand why his boyfriend seemed so comfortable with the whole thing when the mere idea of sharing his most intimate thoughts with someone made his stomach clench in discomfort.

He certainly wasn't expecting Sting to return smiling and carting takeout from their favorite restaurant.

"Hey, Babe!" Sting greeted, placing the bags on the counter and offering Rogue a quick kiss before searching for plates and utensils.

"You're in a good mood," Rogue noted, "I take it your appointment went well."

"It did," Sting beamed as he grabbed some sodas from the fridge, "I really like him, he's very easy to talk to."

Rogue grabbed the styrofoam containers from the bags, dividing the contents onto two plates. He'd been about to put them on the dining room table when Sting surprised him once again by opening the dining room's sliding door and calling out, "It's a really nice day, let's eat out here!"

Rogue followed, relieved to see Sting acting more like his usual self. "Wow, this guy must be really good," he joked as he handed one of the plates over and sat on one of the oversized deck chairs.

"Yeah, he gave me a few things to think about before next Tuesday, but I actually had a lot of fun just talking to him. Turns out, he's known my parents for a long time and had some good stories."

Rogue couldn't help but wonder if that had been part of the reason Sting's father had suggested he see him. In all his excitement at having Sting arrive, he'd completely forgotten that his boyfriend had left a lot of things behind to be with him. The familiar guilt tried to exert its influence, but he fought it off, reminding himself that Sting had done so because he'd wanted to. Because they were miserable without the other.

"Do you miss home?" 

"It's only been a few weeks, but I do miss Yukino, and my parents," Sting admitted, hurrying to add, "but I don't regret moving here, I'm right where I want to be."

Rogue smiled at Sting's words, "Thank you."

"For what?" Sting asked in between bites.

"I know it hasn't been like we'd planned, but I am so glad you're here."

"Of course, it's where I belong," Sting said matter-of-factly, stretching out his hand until he found Rogue's and then lacing their fingers together. 

The words were so casually spoken, but Rogue understood the love and trust they implied nonetheless, and silently made a promise to himself that he’d do his damndest to be worthy of that.    
  
“It is.”    



	5. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue does his best to get better, but setbacks have him losing his confidence. A night out with some friends gives him hope that things are improving, but when he tries to act on his feelings it's too much, too fast. Frustrated with his progress, he makes an important decision.

_July 10, 2014_

The following weeks were difficult for Rogue, full of successes but also setbacks. Overall he had kept to his promise to take better care of himself, even though there were some days when it was a fight just to get out of bed.

But the nightmares kept coming no matter what he did to try to tire himself out, and every time he had one, it took every bit of willpower he possessed not to fall apart all over again. It was so frustrating to fight the same battle day after day. To have to force himself to perform simple tasks when he knew that he’d be paying the price for the victory of success with his energy. 

And yet, no matter how hard he fought, it never seemed to be enough. Just one bad day could easily outweigh all the good ones that preceded it, and what progress did he have to be proud of anyway? He felt like he was going nowhere fast, running himself ragged but barely moving forward.

In contrast, Sting seemed to be doing better every day, miles ahead, out of reach. It was hard not to feel resentment sometimes. Even though Rogue was well aware it was only his own stubbornness that kept him from experiencing the same.

He did appreciate that Sting had given him room to handle things his own way, only really giving him a hard time if he wasn’t eating. Merely knowing that there wasn’t any pressure put on him returned a sense of control, something he’d lost in so many ways already, but that did nothing to exempt him from the pressure he was putting on himself. 

Sting had always been the brighter one between the two of them, facing the world with his chin held high, and his teeth bared in a blinding smile, never letting any hardships bring him down for long. Out of the many reasons why Rogue had fallen for him, this was perhaps the biggest one. Their attitudes used to balance each other out, but now that Sting was so close to being himself again, the difference between them was merely a harsh reminder of reality. He seemed unbreakable, while Rogue had no choice but to admit what he’d wanted to deny all this time- he was broken. 

And broken things that couldn’t be fixed would eventually be replaced.

That thought was the whip on his back. No amount of well-meant compliments or I _love yous_ were able to convince him that that wasn’t happening. 

No matter what, he had to keep trying, so he forced himself to get out of bed despite his crippling exhaustion and made himself as presentable as he could before leaving the bedroom. 

He paused in the doorway, noticing that Sting was talking to someone on the phone. 

“A concert? I don’t know, I don’t think Rogue would be up for it. Maybe we can get together another time,” Rogue could hear the disappointment in Sting’s voice, and it was enough for him to completely ignore the little voice that was trying to tell him Sting was probably right.

He waltzed into the room and asked in as even a voice as he could manage, “What wouldn’t I be up for?”

“Oh, hey,” Sting smiled at him in greeting, but Rogue could tell he seemed uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help but wonder just how many invitations Sting had already said no to because of him.

“Uhm, Orga wants us to meet his new boyfriend,” Sting explained, “They’re having a picnic at the park tonight, you know, one of those free concert things.”

“That sounds great, let’s go,” Rogue did his best to sound enthused, but even he could hear how shaky his voice sounded.

“I don’t know,” Sting hedged, putting on a smile that didn’t fool Rogue one bit. “Are you sure? I was kind of looking forward to watching more of that anime we started last night.” 

Rogue glared defiantly, knowing this was Sting's attempt at giving him an out, and while he appreciated it, he was no less determined to go. Sting finally looked away with a worried frown, but to his credit, he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned back to his phone, “Okay, we’ll be there. What time should we meet you guys?”

As Sting continued to talk for a few more minutes, getting the details for their outing Rogue tried to quell the doubts that immediately followed now that the outing was a done deal. It was no big deal, they were going to go have a nice night out with friends. The type of thing they should have been doing all along. That they used to do all the time.

And despite how loud and obnoxious he could be, Rogue liked Orga. He’d always been a good friend to Sting, and they’d had fun when he came over. They'd even hung out a few times after Sting had left, bonded in their love of music while missing the same person. He was one of the many people Rogue had avoided or lost touch with after the attack.

He left the room, searching for his cigarettes and heading for the backyard, trying not to think about how many people would be at the park. Or the guitar that was stored in Cana’s old room, along with all the other things his family had discarded but couldn’t bear to get rid of.

How long had it been since he’d put it there? Had he even touched it again since Gajeel had dropped it off? 

He lit his cigarette before he could think of the answer. A few moments later, he heard the sliding door open behind him and turned to see Sting step onto the deck, a glass of orange juice in his hand.

Rogue tensed in wait, expecting him to say something about his decision to go out that evening, but Sting only gave him a quick once over before sitting on one of the chairs.

“Can’t believe Orga found someone that actually agreed to date him,” Sting grinned, “ Not gonna lie, I’m pretty curious.”

Rogue snorted in agreement. “Remember the last one?”

“Actually, there was another one after that guy, equally disastrous.” Sting informed him, “He called me last Spring to tell me about it. You know how he is -”

“Go big or go home,” they chorused, trying to imitate Orga’s booming voice, and realizing Sting wasn’t going to say anything, Rogue relaxed, taking a seat next to him.

“Should we bring something?” he asked.

“Orga said Rufus, that’s the guy’s name, was gonna take care of everything, but maybe we could bring a bottle of wine or something?”

“We could stop at the liquor store on the way there, pick up a couple of bottles,” Rogue suggested, and now that he wasn’t worried about Sting’s reaction, he began to feel a small surge of excitement and pride.

He was moving outside his comfort zone, trying to go do something with friends as a couple, and it went well, it could be the beginning of better things.

“I’d have been fine with staying home, you know,” Sting’s voice broke into his thoughts, bringing him back down to reality.

“I’m tired of holing up at home,” Rogue said stiffly.

“Okay,” Sting said softly, grabbing Rogue’s hand and kissing his knuckles gently, “We’ll have fun.”  
  


0-0   
  


By the time they arrived at the park, it was already seven o’clock. Their arms were full of bags from both the liquor store and the bakery, Sting’s sweet tooth as insatiable as always. When they had walked past it, he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to bring a few dozen treats, just in case Rufus hadn’t packed enough desserts.

Even though the music wasn’t scheduled to begin for another hour, there was very little available space left on the grassy areas. Couples, families, and groups of friends sat on blankets, talking, cuddling, or playing games. Young children ran around with sparklers, but Sting’s attention was fixed on the food carts that were lined up near the stage.

Rogue chuckled, seeing the childish anticipation in his boyfriend’s eyes, “We’re supposed to be having a picnic, remember?”

Sting pouted briefly but immediately smiled, leaning his head on Rogue’s shoulder in a sort of head hug.

“Alright, how hard can it be to find a green-haired giant in this mess?”

Rogue shrugged helplessly, trying not to focus on how many people there were and how hard it was to move around, or on the images that his mind was determined to show him, of how this park had looked on a particular rainy day.

He could feel sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature dripping down his neck as they searched, and he knew he should ask to go home or at the very least stop for a moment, but before Rogue could do either of those things he felt something hard slam into him.

It wrapped himself around him and picked him up in the air, spinning him. His breathing sped up, and a scream lodged in his throat until Rogue heard Sting yelling.

“Damn it, Orga, put him down for fuck’s sake!”

The urgency in his voice was unmistakable, and Rogue was soon placed back down on the ground gently.

Orga stood before him, looking contrite. “I’m sorry, Rogue, I didn’t know you spooked so easy. I was just happy to see you.”

“It’s alright,” he managed through closed eyes and clenched teeth. Everything seemed too loud, but he was determined to stay. It had been an unexpected scare, but it was just Orga. He was safe, and honestly, he should have expected it.

“Are you alright?” The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone was kind, and he opened his eyes slowly, curious as to who it belonged to. 

A man stood in front of him, holding a humongous basket which he shoved at Orga, “Carry that.” 

He was fair-skinned with long blond hair that was tied back in a low ponytail, his green eyes peering at Orga fondly before turning back to Rogue, “He means well, but he’s an idiot.”

Rogue snorted at the comment.

The man smiled at Rogue’s response and introduced himself, “I’m Rufus Lore.”

“Hey!” Orga complained, looking to Sting for support, seeming surprised when Sting appeared to be watching Rogue intently. 

Rogue ignored Orga as well, not wanting him to see how his greeting had affected him. He attempted a smile and managed it even if it was a bit forced. “Rogue Fullbuster.”

“Happy to make your acquaintance,” Rufus bowed his head in what his mother would have called old world charm, and they began to walk behind their boyfriends.

“Uhm, same.”

Although Rufus was incredibly handsome, Rogue was surprised Orga would be interested in someone who was clearly so different from him.

“Have you known Orga long?” Rogue couldn’t help but ask, smiling when Rufus only chuckled.

“I know, we don’t seem like we’d make a good match, but there’s something about him that intrigued me. Even though he was incredibly persistent, I finally realized if I kept saying no to his advances, he would eventually stop asking me out. The thought made me kind of sad, so I figured, what did I have to lose by giving him a chance?”

“He’s a good guy and a great friend.”

“Yes, he is,” Rufus agreed, “He thinks very highly of your boyfriend and of you as well. It made me a little nervous about meeting you, actually.”

“No need to be nervous, I’m more concerned about whether you’ll still want to date him after seeing him with my idiot. Do you go to MU?”

“I did, I graduated last year. I actually work as a research assistant in the building where Orga works as a security guard.”

“Let me guess, he took all his breaks near you, serenading you while flexing his muscles.”

Rufus' laugh was melodious and very contagious, “Something like that. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strongest suit.”

“Are you talking about me, Babe?” Orga slowed down, waiting for them to catch up, and Rogue searched his face to see if Sting had told him anything but didn’t see any change from Orga’s usual expression.

“Of course,” Rufus winked, and they both stopped for a quick kiss. It was adorable, and Rogue felt a pang, remembering a time when that had been him and Sting.

He looked towards his boyfriend, not wanting to openly stare at the couple, and they shared a shy smile.

“Do you have any idea where we’re going to sit? This place is packed.” Sting complained.

“Relax. Dobengal saved us a spot, he’s been here for hours,” Orga declared smugly.

“Dobengal?” Sting groaned, “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“Well, duh, then you wouldn’t have come,” Orga pointed out, “You’re already coming up with lame excuses all the time. I was beginning to think you didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

“Hey, isn’t that him over there?” Sting hurried, and Orga chased after him yelling, “Hey, slow down, this basket is heavy!”

“And they’re off,” Rufus chuckled. “So, Orga tells me you’re a writer. I’ve tried my hand at it, but I have to admit I prefer reading.”

“Oh, really? What kinds of books do you like?” Rogue asked, delighted to find some common ground. They continued to talk about their favorite books and authors until they finally found the spot Dobengal had been holding for them.

It was a great location, close enough to the stage to be able to see everything, but far enough away to not be overwhelmed by the massive speakers. Orga had already stretched out the large blanket Rufus had packed on the grass. Both he and Sting were stuffing their faces with the pastries Sting had brought, keeping them away from Dobengal, who was whining childishly and lunging at them.

“There they are. Our lovers,” Rufus remarked loudly, his voice full of barely concealed sarcasm, “Aren’t we lucky?”

Rogue couldn’t help but snort at the embarrassed looks on all three men, although Orga recovered quite nicely, a mischievous grin curling on his lips. “You know you love me, at least that’s what you were yelling last night when-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence Orga Nanagear,” Rufus threatened, but Orga only laughed.

“Fine, I’ll behave. For now,” Orga disentangled himself from his two ex-roommates and walked over to Rufus, leaning in to whisper something in his ear that made Rufus blush and swat the larger man away. Still, Rogue could see something akin to anticipation in Rufus' expression. 

It was a look he had seen on Sting often, but not lately. He left them to have their moment and walked over to the blanket, handing Sting the wine bottles he’d been carrying before sitting down. 

“Did you leave me any?” he teased, noticing the crumbs that were littered all over the blanket, the only visible reminder from their battle.

“Lots,” Sting grinned proudly, offering him one of the bags. On impulse, Rogue leaned into Sting and kissed him, grabbing the bag and handing it to Dobengal as he did so.

“Thanks, Rogue!” Dobengal cheered, opening the bag and digging in.

“That was a dirty trick,” Sting murmured, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“So’s ganging up on Dobengal, I thought you two had outgrown that,” Rogue chided as Dobengal tossed him a pastry.

He bit into it, moaning at the taste, and when he looked up, he noticed Sting gazing at his mouth.

“You’ve got a little something there,” Sting leaned in, lips moving ever closer and Rogue didn’t wait, he leaned in as well, meeting Sting halfway, feeling the soft brush of Sting’s lips on his and sucking on them.

Sting’s hands moved to Rogue’s head, tugging at his hair with long fingers, their kiss deepening as weeks of pent up need rose to the surface.

“Geez, get a room you guys,” Dobengal whined, “Have a heart will ya, I can’t fucking look anywhere without being reminded I’m alone again.”

Rogue felt that kiss flow through his entire body, awakening a desire that had been lying dormant for so long, and the last thing he wanted at that moment was to be at the park surrounded by people. He wanted to go home to continue what they had started, but that would be rude, and looking at the vast amounts of food packed into the basket, he could see Rufus had put a lot of work into it.

Sting didn’t seem much better, and when Rogue whispered _To be continued_ , he looked just as impatient as Rogue felt.

“You guys brought wine, that’s great!” Orga commented, grabbing a bottle and looking at it, “I hope you also brought an opener cause these do not twist off.”

Sting and Rogue looked at each other in consternation, neither one of them had thought of that.

“Don’t look so glum, this basket came with one,” Rufus announced, unclipping the device from the lid amidst cheers from the others. “You guys sure brought a lot of bottles with you.”

“It was on sale,” Sting admitted, adding cheerfully, “We did bring cups though!”

Rufus set about opening the first bottle, which was quickly divided between the five men, immediately followed by three others. Dobengal sat next to Orga, having given up his space to a group of his friends from the University.

They were already pleasantly buzzed when Rufus began pulling out wrapped sandwiches from his basket, followed by some trays filled with raw vegetables and fresh fruit cut up into bite-sized pieces. Another dish contained cheese and crackers, which were devoured almost as soon as they touched the ground, giving him no chance to distribute the cutlery and napkins he’d brought.

Rogue felt kind of bad, the man had obviously put a lot of work into the presentation, and it was utterly wasted on them, but as much as he wanted to say something nice, he was too busy digging in at the same pace as the others. Both he and Dobengal had learned from experience that you couldn’t fool around when it came to Sting and Orga and food.

“This is delicious,” Rogue managed in between bites.

“How can you tell?” Rufus asked, peering at all of them in horror.

Sting looked embarrassed, and Rogue snickered, knowing his boyfriend was likely hearing his parents yell at him in his head, “Thank you so much, this is all really good.” Sting said politely, having the grace to wipe his mouth with his hand before elbowing Orga.

“Oh yeah, Babe, it’s great!” Orga mumbled while opening another bottle and pouring some into everyone’s cups. “The wine is great too. This whole thing is…. great!”

Sting shook his head at Orga, moving away from him to sit behind Rogue and whispering, “He’s so not getting laid tonight.”

Rogue giggled, the words _but you might_ flitting through his mind before he could stop them, although thankfully, he didn’t say them out loud. He drank the rest of his wine, and when Sting wrapped himself around him, surrounding him in a cocoon of warmth and that cologne he always wore, he was overwhelmed with need.

Fuck the concert, he wanted to go home and well … fuck. 

Maybe. 

Definitely. 

His thoughts blurred more and more as his senses became overloaded, and all there was was Sting. His head resting on Rogue’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around his middle, his legs on either side of him. Rogue felt Sting's breath, slightly heavier than usual, tickling just below his ear, his cock coming to life between them, pressing into his back and letting him know he wasn’t the only one affected.

“How long do you think we need to stay?” Rogue asked Sting in what he thought was a quiet voice, but from the amused looks he was getting from the others, it seemed it might have been louder than he thought.

“Oh my God, you two haven’t changed one bit,” Orga exclaimed, rolling his eyes at them, “No wonder Sting never wants to go anywhere, I wouldn’t either. Go, get out of here, we’ll get together another time.”

Rogue expected Sting to protest, but instead, he’d already gotten up and was grabbing him by the hand, tugging gently.

“It was great to see everyone, uhm bye,” Rogue tried his best to be polite, but all he could think of was getting home. 

They left quickly, and as they reached the entrance, the park lights went out, replaced by the stage lights, signaling the beginning of the performance. The music soon began, but neither of them even stopped to peek, both intent on reaching home as quickly as possible.  
  


0-0  
  


They stumbled through the front door, hanging on to each other, breathless from walking so fast and locking lips the second Rogue had stopped to get his key. What little of a shirt Sting was wearing still managed to offend Rogue, and he nearly ripped it in his hurried attempt of getting it off. 

"What was in that wine?" Sting chuckled as he raised his arms above his head to allow his top to be pulled over his head easier. 

"Don't know, don't care," Rogue shrugged, wasting no time in attacking the newly exposed skin with his mouth. 

The force behind the action caused him to tilt forward a bit too quickly. The combined rush of alcohol and his almost feral arousal made everything around Rogue spin for a few seconds before they bumped into _something_ , tipping them over until he had Sting pinned against the hallway closet. He couldn’t say he minded.

A loud crash echoed through the room, the sound of wood hitting the floor and shattering ceramics prompting them to stop and look at the damage. The end table that had held one of his mother's plants had been knocked over, leaving the floor covered in dirt and shattered pieces of pottery. 

Sting observed the mess with a sheepish smile. "How is it that we're always this destructive?" he laughed, the sound blending into a moan when Rogue ground against him and sucked a love bite into his neck. 

Rogue snorted, he'd never liked that plant anyway, and even if he did, he was too caught up in the way Sting made him feel. The last time they'd done anything more than innocently kissing and cuddling had been in the first week after Sting had arrived, but it felt like so much longer. And even then, Rogue had lacked the eagerness he'd had before Sting left and during his Christmas visit to Edolas, the same one he had now. 

He didn't answer the question, too lost in the sounds he was able to coax from Sting, wanting to hear them more, louder. 

They somehow made it to the bedroom without causing any more damage, ditching Rogue's shirt along the way. As they fell onto the mattress, the sensation of falling lasted longer than it should have, making Rogue's head spin once again, but he ignored the little voice at the back of his mind that reminded him of how much he'd had to drink. 

Sting, however, seemed more concerned about it. He slowed them down to ask, "Hey, are you sure this is okay?" He cupped Rogue's cheeks, a trace of worry shining in his eyes, the beautiful blue just a thin circle outlining his blown pupils. 

"Yeah," Rogue kissed him again, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off the bed. "Fuck, I want you…" 

It wasn’t enough, not when Sting’ s body was still half covered. With a grunt of frustration, his hands moved to the offending button that was keeping him from what he wanted. He could feel Sting’s eyes on him, but he didn’t want to meet them just yet. Instead, he continued to fumble until he got it open.

Feeling victorious, he lowered the zipper, and when Sting didn’t lift his hips right away to help, he pouted. Not to be deterred, he moved the metallic teeth out of the way giving him access to Sting’s underwear.

With a wicked grin, he grabbed the waistband with his teeth, tugging at it until Sting relented, lifting his hips slowly.

Rogue let go gazing at Sting and purring, “Good boy,” before pulling his pants down slowly, eyes never leaving his boyfriends until they were entirely off. For once, he felt very much in control, and that was almost as intoxicating as the wine.

He noticed Sting gulp as he watched him, and the responsive twitch in his tented underwear. God Sting was beautiful, especially when he was like this. Rogue traced a path up Sting’s leg with his finger, moving ever so slowly, enjoying how Sting was trying so hard to stay still for him, even though it was obvious that he wanted to touch. 

When he got as high up as his thighs, he started adding soft puffs of warm air, which made Sting squirm. Rogue licked his lips in anticipation at seeing the wet spot on Sting’s underwear, once again keeping their eyes locked as he continued to trail his finger up until he could trace the outline of Sting’s cock, giving him the barest of touches.

Sting’s wanton moan made him pause a moment, the sound the only music he ever wanted to hear. And when Sting called out for him, he moved the underwear out of the way to blow against the flushed skin of the head of his cock, just short of pressing a kiss on top of it. 

"Roooogue," Sting whined again, trying to laugh off his frustration. Rogue smiled back at him innocently until he couldn't smile anymore, his lips wrapping around Sting's cock, taking him in slowly, inch by torturous inch. 

He watched transfixed, following every sign of satisfaction that graced Sting's face, feeling more turned on by the second by the effects his efforts were having. Like the rest of his personality, Sting wasn't the timid type, and Rogue knew him well enough to know how to get the reactions he wanted. 

But as much as he liked teasing, his patience was running thin. He'd been hard since they'd been at the park, and though he'd been distracted by dirty thoughts, now he was aching for relief. 

With that in mind, he took in as much of Sting’s cock as he could manage, moving slowly back up and giving one last hard suck before letting go. Ignoring Sting’s protests at his absence, Rogue removed his underwear. He was done with playing, and he could only snort when he saw that Sting had already removed his as well.

“You really want this, huh?” Sting’s eyes were half-lidded, his voice sultry. 

Rogue paused for a moment, the words loosening something, but once again, he ignored it, too full of the vision of Sting’s gloriously naked body underneath him to pay attention to anything else.

Instead of a coherent vocal answer, he straddled Sting's hips and rubbed their cocks together, moaning low in his throat at the sensation he'd been craving. Fuck, he probably wasn't going to last long. 

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling building up inside him, trying his best to hold off and go slow, denying his body's persistent demand for more. Rogue felt a slight tickle as Sting ran his hand up to his thigh before wrapping it around both of them and tugging along with his rhythm, groaning at the increased friction.

Rogue was getting close, but along with the climbing tension, he could feel the panic rising within him and begged internally, _please, not now_. 

It did nothing to calm him down, though. He broke his rhythm, feeling suddenly unable to breathe.

He opened his eyes again to reassure himself that he was safe at home with Sting, but when Rogue searched for the well-loved features, he only saw Maru grinning back at him.

_See? I knew you wanted it...Doesn’t that feel good?_

The feeling of having his cock jerked was already too much, but the added vision, combined with the voice in his head, was enough for him to scramble back in response. He managed to catch himself before he fell off the edge of the bed, but he still couldn’t breathe, and his hand immediately moved to his throat.

“Rogue, are you okay?” He could hear the fear in Sting’s voice, and he wanted to answer, but all he could do was wave him off.

“Just give me a minute,” Rogue pleaded.

“A minute? What just happened?” Sting had already moved off the bed, his forehead creased, and every vestige of his desire gone, replaced by a concern that pissed Rogue off. 

“I said to _give me a goddamn minute_ , “ Rogue snapped, surprising both of them.

“Please,” he amended, even though he knew it was too little too late.

_No, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go!_

"Okay," Sting conceded, calmly putting his boxers back on and sitting back on the bed, resting against the headboard. As if they weren't just brutally ripped out of a heated moment. 

Rogue knew he was waiting for him to say or do something, and with every passing second, he grew more stressed. He felt cornered, unable to be honest about what had just happened, although he was reasonably sure Sting already knew. 

A part of him just wanted Sting to make this decision for him, tell him to get a fucking grip already, but he didn't even know what he really wanted anymore. Continuing where they'd left off or even starting over was hardly an option, but so was stopping. That would only drive home everything Rogue didn't want to acknowledge. 

"Hey…" Sting softly called him out of his thoughts, "don't beat yourself up over this, we can always try again another time."

There it was again, the gap between them, seeming more significant than ever. A dark abyss that would swallow Rogue whole if he dared to try to cross it. 

"That's easy to say for you, isn't it?" Rogue scoffed, "Because you're not fucked up like I am?"

It flew out before he knew it, no matter how much it frightened him to feel this much anger towards Sting for no rationally explainable reason. He had given in to the darkness, and it was feeding off his turmoil.

"I didn't-" 

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't! So you're just going to lie to me then?! Pretend that I'm not the cause of all of our fucking problems?!" 

Whatever reaction Rogue was hoping for, he didn't get it. Sting didn't confirm nor deny his words, he didn't get angry for being yelled at when he did nothing wrong. The expression Rogue found on his face he could only guess was pity, and it managed to piss him off even more. 

"Fine," Rogue got dressed again, choosing to leave before he'd say or do something worse than he already had, "Just leave me alone." 

As soon as he'd slammed the door behind him, the devastation of silence and solitude hit him, making him regret every word he'd said. Needless to say, he was too stubborn to go back and apologize, so instead, he curled up on the sofa and tried to get some sleep hoping things would be clearer in the morning. 

But sleep wouldn't come, even though he was exhausted from everything the day had brought. He was forced to relive the disaster he'd just caused word for word, the only respite he was given being more flashbacks from the attack. Now that the anger had ebbed away, he was able to reevaluate the situation, and it dawned on him that what he'd seen in Sting's eyes had been repressed hurt. Pity was just what his inner demons had wanted him to believe.

He'd done it again, and he was terrified that he might not be able to come back from it this time. 

Rogue tried his best to breathe through it as he felt the cold sweat rising and his mouth watering, but his stomach was already feeling tense. He got up fast, getting lightheaded from the sudden movement, and he thanked his lucky stars that he knew his house like the back of his hand. He made it to the half bath just in time to bend over the toilet and violently expel everything he'd had at the picnic. 

It burned, the tears in his eyes and the acid in his throat. His head was spinning again, but not in the pleasant way it had before. A sharp jabbing pain came with it, and the spots dancing in front of his eyes made him heave again. 

He'd pushed himself too far today, made all the wrong choices, and now it was time to pay the price.  
  


0-0   
  


The alarm went off, but as soon as Sting reached for his phone on the nightstand, he recognized the sound of rain pelting the house’s aluminum siding, mirroring the throbbing in his head. He quickly decided that he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. While he loved the sound of rain, he didn’t particularly enjoy running in it, especially with a hangover.

Eyes still closed he stretched out his arm reaching for Rogue, hoping that despite how the night had gone, he would have returned to bed. He was disappointed to find that side of the bed was not only empty but cold. 

Sting was determined not to get discouraged by the relapse. He’d noticed little changes over the last few weeks even if he hadn’t said anything, afraid that if he brought attention to them, it would make Rogue self-conscious.

He must’ve fallen back to sleep at some point because the next thing he knew, he woke up to the smell of something burning and the sound of Rogue cursing up a storm. Soon he understood why: the fire alarm started going off.

“Everything okay?” he called out, clutching his head miserably as the noise pierced through it and added to the headache he was already experiencing. Still, he was determined not to get up unless the house was actually on fire, but the sound of a chair scraping across the floor told him that wasn't likely. 

“Yeah, I just- Ah, fuck, hold on!” Praise the heavens, the beeping sound stopped, only to be immediately followed by the ringing of Rogue’s cell phone.

Sting could hear his boyfriend talking to someone, and he sympathized with him deeply, especially as Rogue’s tone became more and more exasperated with every incoming call.

“Hello? No, there is no emergency, just trying to cook breakfast. What? This is Rogue Fullbuster, yes, thank you.”

Sting stretched and yawned at hearing Rogue's end of the phone call, "Cooking breakfast, huh? I'll be right there, just gotta untangle myself from the sheets... and hope my body won't stay down as my soul ascends when I try to get up.”

"Just stay put,” Rogue ordered, “I’ll come to you.”

A few minutes later, Rogue entered the room, holding a tray Sting had never seen before. It was laden with all sorts of food items, including pieces of burnt toast, even more burnt bacon, as well as some overly runny eggs.

Rogue waited for Sting to sit up before handing him the tray, which also contained a bowl of sugary cereal and some fruit along with a glass of milk.

“I’m sorry, I tried to multitask,” Rogue rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while peering down at Sting through his bangs.

“No, it looks great!” Sting was quick to reassure him, surprised that he had put so much effort into making him breakfast after the sounds he’d heard coming from the bathroom the night before. 

He began picking at the fruit, not wanting to bring attention yet to what had happened. “Thank you.”

Rogue snorted, “It does not, but you’re welcome.” He left the room, returning a few minutes later with two large mugs of coffee.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Sting asked, eyeing the eggs warily, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach as he willed himself to eat them, but before he could make a move, they had already been taken away.

“Don’t eat those,” Rogue paled just looking at them and gagged when he took them to the bathroom to flush them down the toilet. “No, I ate already. This wasn’t my first attempt,” he admitted when he came back, looking rather sheepish when he had to add, “we, uhm, need to go to the grocery store.”

“Maybe after the rain clears?” Sting suggested, not really expecting him to agree but wanting to act normal. He felt a surge of relief when Rogue just nodded in reply. 

Like he’d thought earlier, last night had just been a relapse. One that had been both terrifying and frustrating, but not the end of the world. Things were still changing for the better, it was just slow going. He finished his breakfast as best he could, and despite Rogue’s protests got up and helped clean up the mess in the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t a trace left of the havoc they’d wreaked in the hallway the night before.

“Want to go sit on the front porch?” Sting asked. Now that he was up, he was in the mood to sit and watch the rain. The fresh air would probably do them good.

Rogue stared at the door wordlessly but eventually replied, “Yeah, okay, I have a book I want to finish.”

It wasn’t excitement, but it was something, and Sting liked watching Rogue read his books, it was one of the few times when he was truly relaxed. He hurried to their room to change into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, deciding to remain barefoot. He grabbed his phone and headed outside, finding Rogue already sitting down with his book on his lap, although his gaze seemed a million miles away.

Not wanting to disturb him, Sting sat down and poked around on his phone, finding a text from Yukino, asking how they were doing and telling him that she missed having him around. He’d started swiping a response when Rogue broke the comfortable silence.

“I used to love the rain,” he announced, “just everything about it, the smell, the way it felt on my body on a hot summer day, and the rainbows that came after.”

Sting didn’t quite know how to respond, so he remained silent and let Rogue talk.

“Cana, Gray and I would chase each other and jump in puddles, even though we’d promised my mom we wouldn’t. And on good days, when Dad and Gildarts were both around, they’d join in. We’d play tag and just laugh ourselves silly.”

Rogue chuckled softly, “Sometimes those two were bigger kids than we were.”

Sting put his arm around him, urging him closer, as he could see that even though Rogue seemed to be having a pleasant memory, there was something ugly lurking underneath, and he was sure he knew exactly what it was.

“We’d all come home covered in mud, and Mom would give us that look of horror when she scolded us for all the mopping and laundry she’d have to do, but then once we were all showered there was always hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows waiting for us."

“Now, I have a whole new set of memories that resurfaces whenever it rains, and the good ones have all been overridden.” Rogue closed the book on his lap without looking, continuing to stare blankly at the driveway, which was as good as flooded. “And all it took was no more than five minutes. I know, because if it had lasted any longer than that, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Someone would’ve found me, lying in that alley, cold and soaked, with mud in my hair and my pants pulled down.” The hairs on Rogue’s arms stood on end and goosebumps formed on his skin, Sting could feel it underneath his fingertips as he brushed his thumb up and down to offer some sort of consolation. “I’ve seen that outcome too, in one of my nightmares,” Rogue spilled. 

Sting held his breath, entirely overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. He was both glad and surprised to finally hear Rogue disclose some of his feelings about what had happened, but the fact that he could’ve died that day, even by accident, sent chills down his spine every time it came to Sting’s mind. The mental imagery of the nightmare made his gut scrunch up in revolt.

“I don’t like to think about that,” he admitted, resting his head on Rogue’s shoulder.

“I...There have been times when I thought it would’ve been better if-” Rogue stopped, swallowing back the words that didn’t need to be said, “But that's not how I really feel. Some amazing things happened that I'm glad I didn't miss out on, and I like to think that there will be many more in the future.” 

"There will be," Sting said confidently, wanting to cement that positive outlook more than anything in the world. “It just takes-”

“Time, I know, but how much time has already passed? How much time will it take? How many times will I bring myself down, possibly taking you with me, and how long before one of us doesn’t want to get back up again?”

“I don’t have the answer to that, no one does,” Sting ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m going to tell you the same thing Bob told me. You can’t do this for me, or even for us, you have to do it for you. I will still be here, for as long as it takes.”

“And I don’t care about last night, or any other nights like it, because I know you will get past this.” 

“I  _ do _ care about last night,” Rogue countered, “I’ve felt so distant from myself and from you, and then suddenly, I didn’t, and I desperately wanted to chase that.” 

He chuckled bitterly, sucking in his bottom lip when it began to quiver. His voice was watery and cracked halfway through as he added, “But the truth is, I have no control over anything, not the way my body responds or the thoughts and images my mind feeds me. So no matter how much I missed it and wanted it, I couldn’t.” 

Sting had heard him cry only once, caught a few sniffles when they’d curled up on the couch together after Rogue had shown him the journal. He’d had no idea what to do or say then, and he didn’t now, either. His chest felt tight, and tears began to well in the corners of his eyes as he witnessed Rogue breaking down in front of him, little by little, shattering Sting’s heart. 

“That might be okay for you, but it’s not for me-” Rogue wiped his tears, but it was pointless, there was no stopping the grief that spilled, and all he managed to do was turn his skin red and raw. “This has taken so many things from me already. All the things I used to love and enjoy have been tainted, yesterday was just another cruel reminder of that.” 

“And I’m so sorry,” his voice quavered through his hands, interrupted by the spasms of sobs and hiccups, “I should’ve been grateful that you were so understanding instead of giving you shit because I couldn’t cope with the fact that I’m so far from your level. I was frustrated and disappointed, and I took it out on you.”

Sting let him pour it all out, shifting their positions so he could wrap both arms around Rogue and let him cry on his shoulder. Neither of them seemed to notice Rogue’s book falling to the ground.

It killed him inside, knowing that the one he loved so dearly was in so much pain, but Sting was happy to offer the comfort he could tell Rogue needed from the way he clung on to him.

“You know, there’s no such thing as your level or my level...” He stroked through Rogue’s hair, thinking about the guilt he still felt for not being there right after the attack, or during the difficult moments that followed after, when there was no one Rogue trusted and felt comfortable enough with to be this vulnerable. This was, in some way, healing to Sting as well, to be able to offer that comfort even though it was long overdue. 

“My troubles cannot be compared to what you’re going through, and even if it could, we’re two very different people. We have different personalities, different beliefs, different cultures, and upbringing. All of that defines what does and doesn’t work for us, how we react and deal with things."

Rogue was slowly calming down again, releasing his tight grip on Sting’s shirt. He spoke softly, almost whispering, his voice barely reaching above the rain that clattered down on the overhang above them. “Your therapist...Do you think he’d want to see me?”

Sting pulled back from their embrace, surprised by Rogue’s words. He studied his tear-stricken features for a hint of confirmation that he’d heard that right.

“I’m so sick of it, Sting, I want  _ me _ to define me again.” Rogue got up and moved to the edge of the overhang, leaning against the wooden railing. Reaching out a hand, palm side up, he let the rain coat his fingers. A shiver went through him that was unlikely to have been caused by the chilly weather, but he didn’t retract his hand.

“I’m tired of doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome and still being let down when it doesn’t happen,” He sniffed, staring at his bare feet and wiggling his toes in the shallow pool of water he was standing in. 

“And I’m  _ terrified _ \- the admission made him choke on the word, “but I know I can’t do this on my own anymore, I’ve tried that.”

Sting walked up to him, making sure to give him some space first and asking, “Can I hold you?” wrapping his arms around Rogue again when he nodded his consent. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, I’ll be there whenever you need me,” he promised, “And of course Bob would want to see you, he told me he’d gladly make time for you if it was something you ever wanted.”

“I want to,” Rogue confirmed, sliding the raindrops around between his fingertips, “I want the rain back, I want my music back, I want my writing focus back, I want  _ us _ back…”

“But most of all, I really want myself back. I miss the person I used to be.” 

“Then I’ll text him right now,” Sting said, his fingers already flying across the screen of his phone as he sent a message to Bob, asking if he could see Rogue over the weekend.

He went back to holding Rogue close, nudging them back to the bench where they could sit comfortably. Rogue was limp, obviously exhausted from his outburst, and Sting could see his eyes were fixed on his phone, so he gave it to him to hold.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Sting murmured into Rogue's hair, rubbing his arm gently when he noticed that he was shivering, “and I know it’s frustrating, but we’re gonna get through this together. I wasn’t joking when I said you were stuck with me, you know.”

“There’s no one for me but you,” Sting continued reassuring Rogue as best he could, “I know that just as my dad knew when he met my Mom.”

Rogue wasn’t sure how much time they sat like that, him holding on to Sting as he kept talking, both waiting for the tone that would alert them to Bob’s response. When it finally came, Rogue had almost fallen asleep, lulled by Sting’s words and the sound of his heartbeat. He looked down in slight trepidation, almost sobbing with relief when he saw the words light up the screen.

_ How does tomorrow at 3 sound? _


End file.
